A Dangerous Music
by TrickSpine
Summary: While Legolas and Aragorn seek their missing horse in a mysterious and ill tempered forest, Legolas falls prey to a dangerous music. When they are ambushed,they both plummet into a reality characterized by grotesque miracles. Rated for Gore
1. The Song

**A Dangerous Music**

1) The Song

Like an animal testing for danger, he raised his head. His ears filled with sounds of the forest as he strained to find any trace of danger. He knew Aragorn was somewhere nearby, but Legolas would not search for him now. He knew the ranger needed to think. He wondered briefly what he should do. He might hunt, but the impression the irritable forest was giving him was that to take from it would only lead to bad relations.

Suddenly, a sound drifted into his head. A tinkling. It sounded like the wind chimes of Lothlorien, only with a more menacing song. Where could they be coming from?

He looked all around him, deep into the forest. He saw nothing but the green of the soft ferns coating the forest floor. And if someone had hung chimes in the forest, why would they have suddenly started singing? No wind had picked up. Legolas began to wonder if he was in fact hearing the sound or just imagining it. Perhaps he was near the edge of the forest and he was hearing the music of some nearby dwelling.

The song sounded malevolent in nature and it did not play at random the way wind would take bells. This melody had structure, all the notes minor.

Then Legolas felt a presence behind him, and he whirled around, bow and arrow already strung in his hands. But there was no one. He followed the point of his arrow all the way around in front of him, but he was alone in the forest.

"Estel?" He called, loudly. The forest seemed to absorb his voice and it traveled nowhere, as though he had spoke into a sponge.

Suddenly the branches of the wide trees seemed to have gotten lower. If Legolas wanted to see along through the forest, he would now have to drop to his knees. As he stood, he could only see dense twisted branches. Had it always been this way and he had only just noticed? He could no longer see the sky either, though the cavernous wood seemed to emit its own green light. Though the forest was wide open inside, he began to feel a claustrophobic panic rise in his windpipe. He quickly pushed it down, telling himself that going to pieces would get him no where.

"Some evil is at work here." Legolas said aloud.

He decided then that Aragorn's right to solemnity had officially expired.

Legolas was vaguely aware that the trees would not respond to him. He went to return the way he had come. But the trees all looked the same. The soft moss of the floor was so puffy that it seemed to expand back outward, leaving no trace of footsteps. His face grew hot with embarrassment and frustration as he realized that with all of his skills and senses, he was lost. He wanted to make some sort of growl to relieve his tension, but the knowledge that the sound would go no where in this place was so unsatisfying that he didn't bother.

The tinkling was filling his head up as though it were a pitcher of water. Was it really getting louder? He could no longer think. He was so overwhelmed by the sound that he dropped to his knees, covering his pointed ears, his face contorted.

The song then changed for Legolas. Instead of eerie and ill conceived, it sounded appealing and seductive. He slowly let his hands fall from his ears. He looked up, and a smile slowly crept across his face. Lifting one leg at a time, he stood. He began to follow the music. All thought left his head. He did not see and he did not feel. He only sought the tinkling song.

Soon the music became more than it was. A delicious smell filled the air. His stomach became desperately hungry. And the music played on. A sight of beauty filled his eyes. It could not be described as anything. It was only colour and light. And he did not see it at all, but it was a part of the music as well.

How long Legolas followed the sound would be incalculable. But when the music faded away, he was kneeling somewhere deep within the middle of the forest. It was a clearing.

Legolas still knew nothing. The spell of the music did not wane.

In front of him in the grass was a small patch of mushrooms. Though there was no voice, something or someone was telling him to eat a mushroom, to have as many as he wanted, in fact. And Legolas did not need to be convinced either. He wanted them more than anything else. This was his one desire, the fruit of all of his arduous searching. Had he been himself, he would have known better. Legolas knew this vegetable, and that it was not for eating.

Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed up a handful of mushrooms. He stood and devoured them without tasting or feeling them in his mouth. As he was swallowing, he heard the trickle of a stream and then birds chirping and the distress of the forest. And suddenly Legolas could hear and see and feel everything. He also thought he heard laughing. He was confused. He had no idea where he was or how he had got there. He realized he was swallowing something, though he didn't know what. He grasped his throat, but it was too late. Whatever it was, it was down his gullet now.

The trees on the outskirts of the clearing seemed to suddenly be stretching tall up towards the sky in his peripheral vision. He looked down at his knees. There was a disturbed and shredded patch of mushrooms there in the grass, which seemed to sway. His stomach lurched. Without warning, he fell to the ground, unconscious, his blond hair sweeping down through the air to keep up.

* * *

When Legolas had called for Aragorn, Aragorn had answered. Upon receiving no response, he became concerned. But now he knew Legolas' whereabouts and followed the direction that the elf's voice had come from. As he walked he heard movement in the trees. But these steps were too clumsy for an elf, but they led away from the direction that Legolas's voice had come from. Alert, Aragorn followed these steps from a distance, convinced that they had something to do with Legolas and the reason he had called for him.

After a while, Aragorn stopped and listened for the bumbling steps, crashing over logs and bushes as it had been, but he heard nothing. He soon realized he was very far behind. He quickened pace and kept south as the creature had been going. Almost missing it all together, Aragorn stopped himself as he noticed bright light between the trees to his right. He headed towards the light. After hopping over a small stream, Aragorn climbed the bank of the opposite side of it and found himself on the outskirts of a large clearing.

The sun was setting and the glare was in his eyes. Stepping past it, Aragorn struggled, cautiously into the clearing. Near the centre, he saw something on the grass. It was a figure, a man. Scanning past the legs, up the torso, Aragorn's eyes finally came to rest on the head of the distant body. Long blond locks scattered about the head of the crumpled body.

_Legolas!_ Aragorn's mind screamed as he began to bolt for him. But he stopped himself, and did so with such abruptness that he lost his balance and fell soundlessly into the grass. He had to be careful. There was a reason Legolas was lying there and that reason might easily still be nearby. He crouched in the grass and listened, the skills he had learned in his youth being put to use. He heard nothing but the pounding of his own heart. He struggled with himself to remain where he was and to pick out the danger.

_You're wasting time!_ He told himself. _He may be dying!_

"Be still." He whispered. He snuck around the outskirts of the clearing, using the mask of the trees to cloak himself. The descending dark was generous in aiding him of this. He moved until he was as close to Legolas as he could possibly be while still being in the dark of the trees. There was nothing to suggest that there was anyone or anything nearby.

Finally satisfied, the ranger darted out to the elf. He knelt at his side. He felt his pulse and called his name. His pulse was only a fraction slower than normal, but he did not wake at his name. He stirred and his eyes moved from under their gentle lids.

"Oh, what has befallen thee now?" Aragorn muttered.

He suddenly felt something wet under his knees where he knelt. He shuffled back and found he had completely obliterated a patch of mushrooms.

"Arg." Aragorn did his best to wipe the moist vegetable off his knee. "Scantalois?"

Struck with a thought, Aragorn gently pulled Legolas's head into his lap. He looked to the prince's mouth, but found no trace. If he had eaten a mushroom, he was much too dainty to have left any on himself, Aragorn reasoned. Then his eyes fell on a tiny fleck of grey on the front of the elf's tunic.

"Then again, maybe not." The ranger picked it up and sniffed it gently. He matched it with the foul fungus in the grass. He looked down at Legolas and stroked his hair. "What have you done?"

TBC


	2. The Sense of Losing Senses

2)The Sense of Losing Senses 

Legolas awoke to the sound of his own retching. He did not open his eyes, but turned to the ground. He was on all fours as he began to vomit loudly. He felt a hand on his back and another gently supporting him under his stomach. He opened his eyes, his forehead wrinkled in distress. He saw black grass, with orange light dancing upon it. All was dark. Tears streamed down his cheeks and dripped into the grass as they often did when he vomited. He spat and spat and spat.

Finally, he fell back. He meant to sit on the grass, but he found himself in someone's arms, pressed up against them. He looked up to see Aragorn. Relief washed over him, and the fact that anything was washing anywhere made him wanted to be sick again, but he knew there was nothing left in his stomach. He was embarrassed as the tracks of his tears shone in the firelight.

He noticed then that he was on the edge of a clearing, just near the beginning of the trees. Aragorn had set up camp next to the stream under the protection of the trees.

He didn't know what to say. He felt ridiculous; the events of the day previous to the retching were not coming to him.

"What were you thinking?" Aragorn finally asked.

Legolas didn't know what he meant exactly. The events were only slowly unfolding in his mind.

"You knew what they were." Aragorn continued.

"Knew what what were?"

"The scantalois. You ate scantalois. A whole lot of them, it would appear." Aragorn glanced over at the vomit. "That's not the first time you've vomited since I found you."

"I . . . .I . . . "

"Why did you do it? You know as well as I that those are not for eating. You know that they are poisonous. And despite the old wives tales we used to hear, they are just as deadly and toxic to elves as they are to men. Why?"

"I . . .I don't know. . ." Legolas said softly, without remorse.

Aragorn just stared at him.

"I don't believe I was right."

"It was you." Aragorn suddenly realized.

"What?"

"You were the one tromping around through the forest. I dismissed that it could be you. It was noisy and clumsy. I followed the noise until I found you." Aragorn paused and then looked back at Legolas. "Some evil has had you."

Legolas raised himself shakily from Aragorn's lap. He crawled in a wavy pattern towards the fire and the stream. He felt very weak and progress was slow. Aragorn found the scene too frustrating to watch. He stood and offered his hand to Legolas. Legolas intended to use Aragorn as a sort of crutch, but the human had other ideas. He picked Legolas up, and set him gently down in front of the stream. Legolas had wanted to protest but he was too tired to speak any more.

He crouched on the slant of the stream's bank and took a cupful of water with his hands and drank. His waist-length hair hung down on the dirt of the bank. Soon the effort of keeping his balance and moving his arms about was too much. He stopped and waited. Finally, Aragorn took the hint and moved back to the fire. Legolas lay right down on the ground and began drinking, his lips on the stream's smooth surface. When he was finally relieved, he sat back. He began to crawl up the bank again.

Aragorn set Legolas sitting against a large tree next to the fire. He wrapped him up in his bedroll. Legolas took it upon himself to remove his grass, mud, and vomit stained tunic. His tights remained and he curled up in his blankets once more. Aragorn sat on the other side of the fire and smoke his pipe. He stared at Legolas in deep thought.

"You're lucky you didn't die from the poison." Aragorn said after a long pause.

"Estel, I am aware of the consequences. I am not proud of this. In fact, I cannot remember when I last felt this shame. I'm sorry I have delayed the mission as well."

Aragorn waved his hand at him, dismissing these thoughts. "Get some rest, mellon nin."

* * *

Legolas woke to a cool, damp on his face. The late morning light was gray and unforgiving. He opened his eyes to the grass dulled by this light. His face contorted. His abdomen felt as though it had been bruised by a swift kick. He no longer felt sick, but sweaty and cold instead. The events of the night before slowly unfolded in his mind as he realized where he was. He could feel Aragorn's eyes on him, and though he felt scrutinized by his gaze, he ignored them.

Somewhat impulsively, he stood. The blanket of his bedroll fell to the ground. A shiver ran through him as his skin covered in goosebumps. He stood in naught but his pants. He hadn't realized how sick he was still. He swayed, lost his balance and almost collapsed. A hand on his chest pressed him up against the tree behind him to keep him from falling.

"Be careful, mellon nin." Aragorn said without emotion.

Legolas had crushed his eyelids together as he had begun to fall helplessly. He now slowly looked up at Aragorn from under his eyelashes.

"Estel. . . I . . . I can't . . ."He felt angry at himself as Aragorn was forced to take him in his arms to hold him up. "I . . . I need to . . . relieve myself."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. He pulled Legolas' arm over his shoulder and led him away from the camp to a nearby tree. "If you hold on to these branches, can you take care of yourself?" Aragorn was quiet as he offered the gift of privacy.

"Yes." Legolas mouthed silently.

Aragorn left Legolas. Instead of returning to camp, he wanted to survey the area Legolas had fallen to the mushrooms in the daylight. But he could not leave Legolas hanging on the tree that long. He rustled through his pack until he found the trinimbilis leaves. He put them into the fist-sized pot that was already boiling the creek water in the fire. The tea would help steady the elf.

Aragorn glanced over at Legolas hanging on the tree. He briefly wondered what a passer-by would make of the scene. He could tell that the prince was finished, but too embarrassed to call for him. Aragorn felt somewhere in between exasperated and insulted. He brought the half-naked elf over to the camp. He sat him down near the fire and covered his shoulders in his blankets. Out of his pack, Aragorn found a ratty blue wool undershirt he had been using to wrap various supplies in. He tossed it over to Legolas. Legolas folded it out of its tightly wound ball and pulled it on. It was tight, long-sleeved and very warm. However, it was also full of holes and the neck had been ripped wide so that the collarbone and shoulders were exposed.

"Thank you, Estel." Legolas looked down and fiddled with the tattered strands of the shirt. "We should leave right away." He said, quickly. He began to rise as though to leave.

"Not until you've rested and had this tea." Aragorn managed to grab his hand and pull him down to a sitting position. To convince, Aragorn hurriedly filled a metal mug with the trinimbilis tea he had made. Legolas said nothing but held the tea and regarded it with concern etched on his brow.

"We can-_not_ stay here." Legolas' quiet voice broke. Aragorn suddenly realized how serious his friend's concern was. "It's not safe." He whispered urgently after a long pause.

"What is it? What makes you say that?" Aragorn pulled himself around so that he was closer to Legolas.

The Mirkwood Prince's eyes were wide and glossy and darted around. Aragorn was starting to detect a supreme fear in the elf.

"A presence approaches. I can feel it . . . But, Aragorn . . ." Legolas's head dropped, his hair slid off his shoulders, and shielded his face.

For one horrific moment, the ranger feared he was crying, but when his voice came it was even and bitter. " I cannot see. . . I cannot hear. . . I am blind and deaf, and the trees are silent to me."

Aragorn pulled back in alarm. "But surely, you are not . . . Only compared to elven standards. You are not _blind_ blind, or _deaf_ deaf. "

"Agreed. Indeed, Estel, I can hear and see you. But not the way I do."

"How about that tree over there?" Aragorn pointed to a tree on the opposite side of the clearing that any man could see clear as day. He was merely making the point that Legolas was only blind in comparison to an elf.

But Legolas squinted. Aragorn's stomach filled with a dread as he listened to the elf's words.

"It is foggy and out of focus."

The ranger's mouth was agape. "And the birds? Surely you can hear those birds."

Legolas listened. "I hear no birds."

Legolas and Aragorn stared at each other for a long time. Finally, Aragorn said, "We must get you to my father. Perhaps he knows a cure to get this poison out of your system."

Legolas nodded. _Finally, some action._

Aragorn quickly packed camp and used his small pot to put out the fire, while Legolas quickly gulped down the cup of tea.

"We should make haste. Let us trouble ourselves no more over Brollas. He will find his way back to Rivendell, I am sure."

* * *

The progress of the travellers was slow and stunted. Aragorn had to restrain himself from his usual efficient ground-covering pace for Legolas' sake, who looked like he might, at any moment, fall down asleep. They made their way west, towards Rivendell, and yet this mysterious forest seemed never-ending. Legolas stayed unusually close to Aragorn, and was constantly looking every which direction around them. His were eyes wide open at all times, desperate to take in all that they could.

As night approached, the elf suggested that they continue on as long as possible. To Aragorn, this was a favourable decision that would get them to Rivendell all the sooner. But he was concerned about Greenleaf. He had looked tired all day, but as they trudged on, he seemed neither better nor worse. Weighing these matters, Aragorn had not yet decided either way.

He continued to ponder this until dusk when they arrived in an area that was sparsely treed. The trees that were there were tall and thin and seemed dead. The crunchiness of the ground and the nature of the dead grass revealed that very long ago this had been a swamp. It had since dried up and trees had grown in it. But the trees too had found it too difficult to live here and dried up because of the salt deposits in the soil.

Legolas was imagining this very history of the old marsh when he suddenly felt himself pulled down into the grass. Aragorn had narrowly saved them both from the path of a arrow that zinged into the tree behind them. Desperate to latch onto the one skill that was still his, Legolas crawled through the tall grass to the tree with the arrow in it.

"Load your bow!" Aragorn hissed.

"Why?" Legolas asked, while quickly nabbing the arrow out of the tree. "It's not like I could see to hit anything anyways." Legolas took the arrow in his lap and began analyzing the point for identification.

Aragorn finally began to understand the full ramifications of his friend's stunted ability. Aragorn barely dodged another arrow, rolling through the grass, clenching his jaw in bewilderment and frustration. Sword ready, he studied the direction the arrow had come from.

Legolas' eyesight was fading by the minute and he could no longer focus even on the object he now held in front of him.

Though Legolas was now too deaf to hear it, a roar startled the ranger and before he could turn to address it, Aragorn was barrelled over by two orcs. They began to duel. Legolas was oblivious to this, having neither seen nor heard it. He was feeling the metal point of the arrow gently when a hand went under his throat and lifted him to his feet. Choking, Legolas whipped the arm away from him with his own arms. Quick as a whip, Legolas had a loaded bow pointed at his blurry attacker.

"You seem to enjoy my music. Shall I give you some more?" The attacker's deep voice inquired.

TBC


	3. Blood in the Marsh

3) Blood in the Marsh

Legolas did not understand what the man or creature was referring to and he didn't answer. He let his arrow go instead. He didn't hear it fly, and the dark figure in front of him did not buckle. He seemed to have some how missed the creature or the creature ducked with unprecedented speed. The elf was unfamiliar with both options and so stood perplexed, another arrow already ready in his hands to try again.

"Who are you? Why are you attacking us?" The panic was quietly rising in the elf as black was beginning to close off the sight at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, two orcs came up from behind the stranger and pinned Legolas' arms behind his back. (He could tell they were orcs by smell alone.) "You coward!" The prince coughed out, frustration overwhelming his voice.

"Stop." The stranger said and the orcs tried to hold Legolas perfectly still. The stranger bent to his face. "Coward? Me? I think not, young prince." The stranger's head turned then and looked off out of Legolas' vision and he suspected that Aragorn was calling to him.

Too much was going on that Legolas couldn't sense! "What do you want!"

"Your father should have really awarded you better bodyguards. This ranger fellow is easily overwhelmed. Yes, more bodyguards. A prince, after all. . . Thranduil also should have cultured your love for fine and dangerous music." The stranger couldn't hold back a horrible cackle. "More perplexed than ever? Well, it matters not. You won't be around to make use of any knowledge I could give you." The stranger nodded to the orcs. Legolas felt his sleeve pushed up and something wet was rubbed along his arm with rough clawed hands. He tried to wiggle away, but he was too weak for them.

* * *

Aragorn fought all the harder when Legolas' incapable form was surrounded. But there were too many orcs. It seemed as though they had come out of nowhere. He chided himself for not detecting the attackers earlier. Now his weakened friend was suffering for it. He slashed and hacked, but there were just too many. He could see the elf's blonde hair glistening in the darkness, but the rest of the prince was hidden behind a swarm of orcs and another who appeared to be a man. Aragorn began to fight his way towards them when he was caught from behind and whacked over the back of the head with the handle of a broad battle-axe. He crumpled and lost all consciousness under a shrivelled oak.

* * *

Legolas continued to wriggle and writhe as his enemies jeered at him. Then, to his surprise, the orcs released him. His first instinct was to run, but he could not see and could hear nothing that did not happen directly beside him. He felt the man's soft hands grasp him by the shoulders and move him out towards the middle of the dried marsh where there were no trees. His captor rubbed Legolas' arm where the wet had touched him before.

_They've poisoned me!_ He thought.

"Five, " the man began to count, stroking his arm in that same spot. "Four,"

Legolas began to fear the worst.

"Three…"

He felt ridiculous, standing deaf, blind and dumb in the middle of a marsh at the complete mercy of an evil stranger.

"Two…"

Where was Estel! Legolas clenched in terrified anticipation.

"One… Open your eyes, Prince." The man sounded loud and clear.

Legolas slowly opened his eyes. The moonlit swamp came into sharp and crisp view. His perfect vision was back. He could hear the soft rustling of the grass some one hundred feet away. He was himself again. Instinctively, his first thought was to go for his bow and quills, but it seemed that the orcs had relieved him of them.

"Why have you done this?" He demanded. "You have some how taken all of my senses, only to give them back to me at no reward." At last, his captor came into view. He had a strong jaw line, developed lips, bottomless black eyes and a mane of black hair hanging down.

"I needed you vulnerable enough to get you before me. But I wanted you to see me when I killed you…." With no more warning than this, the stranger ran his sword through Legolas' torso until a good foot of it stuck out of his back.

"Huucck!" A bloody cough escaped the elf's lips. His eyes were wide and clear as he took in the falling countryside. He fell to his knees with a whoosh. Somehow, his hands had become covered with his own blood. His only thought was to get the sword out, but it was a physical impossibility – the right leverage unavailable with the sword in him, his arms too short. His captor received no attention, as, within moments, the trees began to scream, tremors went through the grass roots, bugs came out of the soil, and the elven prince died on the salty dead grass.

TBC

(Those that put up with short chapters in the present will be rewarded in the future...Wow, I'm sounding like a fortune cookie.)

Note: One more thing -if you are a die-hard Legolas fan like I am, you've probablyread this chapter and are now thinking, "Well why would I keep reading now that he's dead?" I know what you mean. I usually stop reading after there is a character death. But don't worry. I promise that everything will be okay. Just keep reading and have faith. :D


	4. A Temporary Tomb

4) A Temporary Tomb 

When Aragorn regained consciousness, it was his hearing that returned first. He could hear birds singing as though it were midday. But their singing was oddly off somehow. It was as though their song had no melody, no tune to it.

He opened his eyes slowly, and found that it was midday, truly. He found himself lying in tall green grass and there were many figures bustling about. He rolled onto his back and looked into the arms of a beautiful oak tree. The sky was blue, and the sun was very bright. He sat up slowly and rubbed the bump on the back of his head. He realized he was surrounded by elves carrying out duties. None of them were paying the slightest attention to him.

There were two kinds of elves here, he realized. There were Mirkwood elves as well as Rivendell elves. He sighed with relief. He was among friends. He summoned a blonde elf that was walking nearby him carrying an ornate hatchet and a bundle of wood.

"Excuse me." Aragorn said. The elf looked at him blankly. "What is going on here? Where are the orcs? The man? Where is Legolas?"

The elf stared at him without expression. His face looked pale and tired somehow. "I can't answer any of your questions. Talk to Elrond, for Thranduil has not yet arrived… You should lie back down, Strider. You took a mighty blow to the head."

"But that's exactly what I'm talking about. I-"

But the elf had continued on hurriedly. Aragorn growled. Another elf passed him and the ranger seized the bottom hem of his cloak. The dark-haired beauty looked down in silent alarm.

"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn demanded, firm and even.

"I'm sorry. I cannot help you there." The elf wrenched his clothing out of the human's grip and carried on.

Aragorn's frustration was growing. He stood up slowly on shaky limbs. He was opening his mouth to make himself heard to whomever would listen when his quivering legs gave out on him and he fainted.

He heard muffled voices. He opened his eyes to a face that, though blurry, was unmistakably that of Lord Elrond. The elf was holding him, elevating his head.

"A-Ada…" Aragorn started when he flipped violently out of Elrond's grip and vomited on one side of the oak tree. He felt the elf's hands around his waist, keeping him from falling face-first into the dirt.

"Just rest a moment. You've got concussion."

Aragorn slumped back against the oak tree and stared into the face he knew so well. A foreign hand came out of his peripheral vision with a large ladle of water. The man took it gratefully. He rinsed his mouth and drank. "Lord Elrond," He panted. "Where-is-Legolas? Is he safe!"

"We have him."

At this, the ranger closed his eyes with relief and let his head fall back against the tree trunk.

"Now, that we know you're coherent, I think you should sleep." The elf said without emotion.

But the man was already half asleep. He dreamed that he was walking in a forest that was disintegrating into ash when he realized that there were butterflies all around, eating him. Then Legolas saved him by poking him in the mouth with a magic flute. Then they were lying together in an open field under the stars. Thranduil suddenly was hovering over them.

"How dare you allow the prince to swallow raspberries! And where is my horse!"

Then a gargantuan raven came flying towards all of them and Aragorn cried out in warning.

But Aragorn's cry was real and he woke himself up with the noise of it. He found himself in an elven wagon that was swaying peacefully through the late afternoon light. A glance around told him that he was on the outskirts of Rivendell. How had he and Legolas thought themselves so lost?

Legolas. But where was Legolas? He hadn't seen so much as a glimpse of him since he had awoken from the blow. If he too was injured, surely they should be on the same wagon. And if Legolas was not injured, surely he would have ridden with him to make sure he was all right. Legolas was usually so concerned about him and his "frail human body".

In Rivendell, the wagon was relieved of its load and Aragorn hopped off and began weaving through the elves trying to find Legolas. So many blondes… Soon, all of the elves had gone off to do their separate duties and he still had not found Legolas. Even Elrond wasn't to be found. He was about to start towards Elrond's library when a glint of blonde caught his eye. He walked towards this blonde that was brushing down a gray mare. It was not Legolas. Aragorn felt his whole body sink. The elf looked at him.

"You were not out with us just now, were you?" Aragorn asked him.

"I was not."

"But tell me, do you know where Legolas is?"

"Legolas?"

"Yes. Legolas."

"Of the Woodland Realm?"

Aragorn nodded.

"But he is dead, sir."

"What! What makes you say that?"

"The fact that it is true."

"It isn't. Why would it be?"

"Everyone is talking about it."

"Are they?" Asked the man, haughtily.

"Everyone knows that he is dead."

"Do they?" Aragorn's temperature was rising.

"They do. It is true, Lord Aragorn."

At his name, Aragorn felt even more offended. "What made you think that you could say any of this to me? This is ridiculous!"

"Lord Aragorn, it's all true."

"You, sir, are a liar. I have never met an elf that could lie before." The ranger was fuming and bubbling, his voice getting dangerously low.

But the elf only became more quiet and firm, swallowing his offence. "Lord Aragorn, if you please-"

"Enough!" Aragorn stormed off to find the truth. He had just found the staircase leading away from the stable courtyard when the elf's cold voice came again and Aragorn stopped dead.

"If you want to find him, go to Lord Elrond. It is said that they aren't to do anything with the body until Lord Thranduil arrives."

* * *

Aragorn made his way to Elrond's library. For every quick step he took, he took a second at a slower pace. He could not decide whether he was desperate for the truth or whether he dreaded the unfolding of it. Perhaps in a few moments time he would desperately desire to return to his present state of ignorance and would never be able to forgive himself those quick, forwarding steps.

Whether too soon or not soon enough, he eventually found Elrond pacing his library while several official-looking elves seemed to await his words from the sides of the room. Upon entering, all eyes turned to Aragorn's scraggly, dirty form. He crossed the threshold, abandoning formality and manner.

"Lord Aragorn, no one offered you a room, or tried to address your cuts?" Asked a Rivendell elf that Aragorn didn't recognize.

Aragorn ignored this ridiculous remark. "Elrond. I must know. Where – is – Legolas?" Aragorn did not ask if he was alive or dead. He did not at all desire to suggest that there was cause to question his being alive.

"Estel, we have been unkind to you. There has been much to do. I admit that my mind has been on Thranduil and not on you. I apologize. Estel, please sit down." Elrond's voice finally broke its characteristic evenness and pleaded that Aragorn take a chair made of twisted oak.

Aragorn did not wish to sit. He wanted to be everywhere. He wanted to stand with authority and power and demand the truth. However, since it appeared that Elrond was on the tangent that would lead to answers, Aragorn obeyed. Elrond drew a similar chair up to face him.

"Estel, you must understand that no one blames you . . ."

Aragorn didn't like the way this was going. But Elrond didn't continue. He trailed off and some character of the nature outside too subtle for Aragorn's human senses distracted his expressionless eyes.

After a few moments of silence, Aragorn demanded, "Elrond, I won't ask again."

Elrond's eyes snapped back onto the ranger's face. "Estel, Legolas is dead. He died, we have deduced, moments after you lost consciousness. He was run through with a sword."

Aragorn was silent. Suddenly he could feel nothing but the numerous eyes on his back that belonged to the elves he didn't even know. He could sense them stirring and thought that their restlessness was not very elf-like. His body felt cooled by those eyes and his fists clenched into sensitive balls. He had never felt any action as vividly as he did this clenching.

When Aragorn made no reaction, Elrond carried on, "Thranduil is on his way to take custody of his son's body. We will discuss the funeral ceremony. Thranduil will most likely insist on a Mirkwood rite . . ."

Aragorn's words and expression reflected a rage, a tearing that he did not at all feel connected to as he spoke. "And what," He began in a quiet voice that shook with hatred. "Is being done about those responsible?" Aragorn was now grasping the arms of the chair in a terrible fight to keep his demeanour even.

"There will be a time for justice, Estel." Elrond had turned his back to the elves and the man and was regarding his books. He was silent in his surprise that this was the first thought to come out of the ranger. A chilled breeze blew over the room and the pages on his oak desk rustled noisily.

"And have you thought that every moment that you spend planning ceremony and preparing for guests puts the criminals closer to their escape? This is preposterous, this preparation, this reserved thought of funerals! The ceremony should commence when the heads of the villainous murderers are there for the bon fire!"

"Estel, you do not speak as yourself. You are a man of honour, and as such, have always been able to understand the integrity of honouring the dead." Spoke an elf from somewhere behind him. He recognized the voice but did not care to look.

"And what of his spirit! How shall we put him to rest without justice!" Aragorn could see in the faces of the elves as he turned and surveyed the room that he was not convincing. In fact, he seemed to be insulting everyone with increasing success. "This is ludicrous! You may do nothing to bring down the perpetrators, but I certainly won't!" Aragorn rose and started swiftly for the door.

"Please don't." came his father's emotionless voice.

Suddenly there were a number of elves blocking his exit.

"Let me pass." Aragorn growled while looking back at Elrond.

Elrond put up a hand, telling him to be silent. His eyes were over and bellow the railing. There was something of interest in the courtyard. "Be still. Thranduil has just arrived."

* * *

Thranduil looked as Aragorn felt. The man had never seen an elf look so destroyed and moist in the face and hoped never to again. Consolation followed formality, as the elf leaders paid their respects to one another. Aragorn's silent form was now growing hot as he stared hard at his feet in the shadows. Thranduil's voice also sounded to Aragorn like it was just barely controlling the enraged grief beneath. Like the man, the King could just barely manage himself. Aragorn could feel the heat and water rising to his head and knew that his cold, even moments were over.

Then suddenly he didn't believe it. He _couldn't_ believe it. Legolas wasn't dead. The very possibility was pure absurdity. And he had the most overwhelming desire to demand to see the body. But his mouth wouldn't open. Worse, he knew what the answer would be and he knew that he would be seen by the elves as crass and raw. And after the wave of frustration went through him, he was glad that he had not spoken.

The elves were discussing funeral arrangements in monotone. Aragorn gripped his hands onto the railing of the window to keep himself from doing anything stupid. He tried not to listen. But when he didn't listen, he became angry that he was doing nothing. And when he became angry, he had to grip the railing all the harder, lest he have an outburst.

His eyes strayed outside and fell on a familiar sight. Brollas was the horse that he and Legolas had become lost in the confusing forest because of. Brollas had been frightened and escaped. As Aragorn had predicted, he had found his way back to Rivendell.

_How long has he been here?_

Abruptly, Aragorn was overcome with rage, particularly as the assailants had been _anonymous_.

"My Lord," Aragorn interrupted. He pushed his way into the centre of the circle and the conversation. "Surely _you_ desire justice to be done that your son's soul might know peace?" He appealed to Thranduil.

"Estel!" Elrond chided him for his rudeness.

Thranduil looked at first shocked and maddened by his gall. However, his eyes soon revealed to Aragorn that resolution, if not revenge, was exactly what Thranduil desired. However, it soon became obvious that Thranduil would never admit this out loud.

"Strider, I dare say," Thranduil drew himself up to his full height in front of the human. "You are very arrogant. We are discussing the matter of my dead son." His mouth twisted as though he couldn't control it.

Aragorn ignored this statement. "Please, my lords, you must help me. Let us capture these murderers." There was a long silence. Aragorn felt the same changelessness. "Well, if you don't want to come along, at least give me some clue . . . A direction. A physical description. Anything."

"As the only witness, we were hoping that _you_ could describe the villains for _us_." Thranduil drew.

"I…. It was very dark…"

"So we've heard." Thranduil narrowed his eyes.

"I know there were a number of orcs. Those I battled. And there was a figure with long dark hair. He seemed to be a man, but I can't be sure. He could have easily been something else. Do you know any man that might hold a grudge or a -"

"So, as usual, Strider, you expect others to provide the answers and, when you have them, you will scamper off on your horse to battle and glory." Thranduil crossed his arms.

"Thranduil, I hardly think-" Elrond began.

"Is that truly what you believe? That I am to seek these villains for glory?"

"Aragorn, we'll-" Elrond tried.

"Yes. Why would I say it if I didn't-" Thranduil cut in.

"Regardless, Majesty, of what you believe of me, I will go," Aragorn's voice grew louder with the agonizing heat in his body. " And obliterate those who have slain your son. I will bring back their heads and I will release Legolas' soul along with yours. When I return, you will all wonder why you did not aid me when I requested it, for it would have hastened peace for all!"

"Estel." Elrond called, but the man had torn out of the room for the armoury. "Estel!"

Aragorn hurriedly suited himself with as many weapons as he could carry, a canteen of water and a cloak that he did not know the owner of. He demanded the fastest and most fit horse of the stable master with such clout and fury that the elf didn't dare refuse.

He galloped across the courtyard beneath the library lividly, Elrond's voice shouting with increasing desperation from above. Aragorn had never heard him like this. It was as though Elrond _believed_ that Aragorn was now riding into certain death.

"How are we to lose you as well?" Elrond all but split apart at the throat. But Aragorn was already too far beyond the bridge to hear.

* * *

At sunset, Thranduil demanded, despite his better judgement, to see the body of his son. Accompanied by Elrond and a host of council elves, the Mirkwood King descended the stairs to the square near the forest of monuments where Aragorn's own mother slept. Legolas' temporary tomb was an above ground stone coffin with chiselled leaves twisting all over it. It would later be carried on a large wagon to Mirkwood.

The elves stood before it and Thranduil braced himself for unspeakable pain. He moved quickly and pushed the heavy stone lid off of the tomb. It crashed to the opposite side with a thunderous boom. The King stepped up and gazed down inside.

"W-w-where is he?" He demanded of no one in particular.

"What?"

"T-there's nothing in here!"

"What?"

"I swear to you!"

Elrond ran up to the tomb and peered inside. "This doesn't make any sense." He muttered. "Who has moved the body?" He demanded of all present.

There was no answer.

"We were all with you." Piped up a tall council elf.

"Someone fetch he who was responsible for the undertaking then." Elrond caught Thranduil in his arms, who said his knees were feeling weak.

The undertaker appeared immediately. "My Lord?"

"Where is the body?" Elrond demanded, still supporting the brunt of the King's weight.

"Oh. The Prince was buried."

"What!"

"'Tis true, sir."

"On whose order!"

"I – I don't know, sir."

"By whom?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Then how do you know he was buried?"

"Well, I saw the figures of several gravediggers return from the edge of the forest with shovels. I asked them what they had been doing as they were passing. They said that they had buried the Prince as ordered. I thought that that sounded strange, but I assumed that King Thranduil ordered it, sir."

"And who were these gravediggers?"

"I- I didn't see their faces."

"And what would ever make you think that I would do such a thing to my son, and without a ceremony?" Thranduil demanded, rage rushing his body.

"I admit that I did not long consider it, sir."

"Take me to the burial site."

* * *

The nervous undertaker took the party to a peaceful spot on the edge of the wood just before the bridge leading out of Rivendell. It was directly next to the stream, which fed into the thunderous river in the ravine below. There was a seven-foot long shape of disturbed soil. Grasses and wild flowers surrounded it. It would have been a perfectly gorgeous resting place, were the oaks not raining brown shrivelled leaves on everything.

"T-t-this is unacceptable!" Thranduil screeched. "He – is a – Prince – of – Mirkwood!"

"My Lord." The undertaker bowed low. "I am greatly sorry. Whatever we must do to set this right, it will be done."

Tears of fury beaded at the side of the King's face.

"And, what might that course be, mellon nin?" Elrond asked the Prince's father.

"Nothing, you fools! Nothing can be done! How much respect could I claim to have for my dead son, if I insisted that his body be dug up and carted all over the countryside? The Prince will have to remain here, buried in Rivendell. However, I demand that a monument be erected in his honour here, as it will be in Mirkwood. We will have to have an emergency funeral here in a few days time."

"Yes. All this will be done." Elrond bowed. In the face of loss, the Lord of the River Elves thought it best to bend to the ego of the King he knew so well.

TBC


	5. Tremors Above the River

5) Tremors Above the River

At some moment during the night a terrible rain began to pour. A dim yellow light lit the room where Thranduil and Elrond conferred by the fire deep into the hours of darkness. Below them the courtyard path led out under the wood arcs to the outskirts, past the gardens, towards the forest - to the side, the bridge.

The long grass was pelted down by the rain and below it the dirt was slowly saturated. Some six feet below all of this, something stirred.

At first, it was naught but a finger – a pinky twitched. It felt mud. Suddenly, the whole hand spasmed. When the hand met with no room to move, no room to be scared, surrounded in mud, the arm became enraged. The other arm agreed that this motionlessness was unacceptable…

Next, the nerves in the feet fired. The toes wiggled in their fine leather boots. A foot moved in its boot and tried kicking.

The dirt was soft, loose. It was not yet hard-packed soil. The four limbs finally decided that there was a _chance_ to do this. With the soil loose, there was a _point_ to doing this.

Two hands and two feet clenched hard and then released. This motion, like the letting go of an arrow, fired electricity through the arterial highways and straight into the heart like gunshot.

The fire ran through the body and met at the centre with a blast. The mouth gasped as the lungs and heart exploded into life. The brain was lit like a lamp in the dark soil. Messages twisted, trying to connect and inform each other.

But the limbs didn't need information or encouragement from the brain before they started struggling. They swam through the earth as though it were the thickest of oceans.

The mind of the elven Prince was not yet coherent enough to be surprised when the limbs began to make progress. Up six feet. After the first four, the brain finally sparked as all of its connections were made and it handed the reins over to self-awareness. The mind encountered a mouthful of dirt and the inability to breathe. Panic-struck, the limbs made haste, lest the claustrophobia take the mind. He swam higher and higher in a great crescendo of strength.

Finally, the hands broke the surface in a spray of mud. They felt a soaking rain. The legs kicked and the arms emerged, the shoulders came next. At long last, the elf's head came out of the earth, spat soil from his mouth and took in a great gasping breath. Waist deep in mud and breathing again, Legolas screamed a great howl of harrowing agony. He pulled himself out of the grave and let his second-hand body flop onto the earth with surrender.

He convulsed for a few moments and then he let fly the monstrous animalistic screech that can only come from someone who has just emerged from their own grave, someone who has defeated death without cause or experience, someone who has just had the thunderous and devastating realization that he was murdered.

Shivering compulsively, the elf eventually found his feet. His brain, though, had not yet mastered the practice of resurrection. He stumbled about, uncontrolled, ever closer to the river, ever closer to remembering whom he was, where he was. The rain poured and the torrent took small rivers of storm water between his feet. His motor skills felt as though they belonged to an infant human.

Confused and spinning, the elf stepped back into shin-deep mud. The foothold eroded right out from under him and he fell backward into the rapid river.

In this present, he felt every sensation with a rawness that only the recently-awoken dead can know. The sensitivity was overwhelming his senses. He did not know what to focus on. He could feel everything and feel it intensely and now he felt the swift-flowing water running past his body, shoving it. He felt the slippery black algae on the stones that prevented him from gripping anything as he flailed about, trying to gain control of himself. He felt the sharp rock edges that his body was banged and carved along. He felt his long hair coating his face as he fought desperately to keep it above water. He felt the roots of his locks at his neck tingle as the current lifted and played with them, reminding him that nothing good could be coming. He felt exquisite pain, as his shoulder was knocked out of its socket in a particularly narrow pass.

And all at once, Legolas felt his body, thrust by the _helpful_ hands of the river, cascading over the waterfall. He gasped as he fell hundreds of feet, sucking in his hair, choking. His helpless body tumbled end over end, a perfect waterwheel of soaked flesh.

And mere feet from the water's surface, he hit a rock. He banged his temple against the jagged surface first. His body quickly followed and added its weight to his neck, which buckled under the weight and broke.

He died instantly. The river committed the woodland elf's body to its pool below where it floated, crooked and cracked and pelted with the ceaseless rain.

TBC


	6. Straining Hands

Author's Note: Okaaaaaay, it seems that chapter 5 has some of you rather... upset. I haven't listed a character death, I haven't thought about realism, etc, etc,blah blah blah. I mention this because I don't think that this next chapter is going to do much to quell your fears or quibbles... (That's right, I'm playin' around with the alliteration!)

But you have to understand thatI have my reasons... for all of this. I have considered all of it. Now, I need you to _trust_ me. It will all be okay.The road is a bumpy one butwe can work through this. Please fear not and keep reading!

Final note: You will notice cough -arynn- cough that sometimes in fantasy, things aren'tnecessarily realistic... (ex. The physically and anatomicallyimpossible centaur...)

* * *

6) Straining Hands

The sun shone dead centre in the mid-afternoon sky. The day was filled with natural words from the birds, the pounding of the waterfall and the sun's rustling through the trees. Below the height of the forest sounds, amongst the large boulders of the far shore of the waterfall's ravine pool, something lay out of place.

A splay of blonde hair lay drying over the river rocks, over a drenched, unmoving face. The frail, white, waterlogged body was covered with the pale blue silk of what was once a ceremonial tunic. It was now little more than a soaked rag. The body lay curled around nothing; only the ruined leather boots remained in the water.

Were there life in the body, it would have found the bulbous rocks uncomfortable, the unnatural way that the shoulder still clung onto the torso disconcerting. The open eyes of the body had changed from a full-blooded blue to a diluted moon shade, as though the pigment itself had disintegrated. In fact, the mangled body all but appeared as though it had always been a soulless shell.

However, the pale hands were the one part of the carcass that implied that it had not simply been dropped from the sky like a wind-blown piece of clothing. The hands grasped, sallow and empty, haggard and beautiful. They reached for that which was not there. The hands were the one part that did not look sculpted. They looked as though they were straining, as though they had once had power in them - the power to perform tasks. And, in a way, the hands were the one part that still had life in them – dead, only long enough to appear frozen while straining for life.

These fingers still had things to do. If life were just inches from them, why not move forward? If the chance was there, why not take it? Rather than simply twitching as the night before, the fingers rippled through the motions, as fingers play with the feathers of an arrow.

They did not bother much more with testing, but sent fire straight to the heart like electric current and immediately shocked it into beating again. A great gasp came from the elf and his whole body straightened abruptly. Tingling blood flooded the rigid form from toes to forehead.

The stretched limbs slumped back onto the unyielding rocks and Legolas listened to the sound of his own heart beating. He did not try to move. He simply thought, wondering if any of this could be real.

_Does one dream when one is dead? _

An involuntary moan escaped his lips. This caused him to question whether or not he had control over his body now. He was not shuddering hysterically as before. However, though he did not try to move, his legs felt shaky. He did not wail with horror as he had before either, though he did not feel entirely opposed to doing so.

_I should not be here._ He thought. _I have fought my entire life to maintain balance and nature. This is not natural._

He struggled, and as he did so, he managed to sit up. Without thinking, he got to his knees. He then fell back into a sitting position. He regarded his feet and the water's edge. He did not dare look at his reflection.

_Yes. But you want revenge, don't you?_ He asked himself. _You were murdered! Murdered by cowards, no less. . . No, no. Revenge is not a part of me, dead or alive. _He argued.

_And exactly whom do you think you are fooling? _Suddenly he was struck with a thought_. Estel! Where is he! Did he escape? Did they kill him? Where am I?_

He looked up the waterfall and abruptly noticed the river elves' home, nestled against the hillside. He looked up at the sun.

_Midday. Is that to imply that it took me half a day to come back to life? And how long before that? A day?_ Legolas was once more overcome. _I should not be here. It's wrong. It upsets the balance. I am no more deserving of a second life than anyone else . . . _

He took off his waterlogged boots. How beautiful they were . . . He tried not to think of those who dressed him for death, those who chose the finest quality garments that Rivendell had to offer for his passage into the next world. It was not the thought of exposure that harmed his heart, but rather, he did not wish to think on those he knew were grieving for him.

He looked up at the bridge and the dwellings above. He knew they were up there, thinking of him. How close to civilization he was and yet, how very, very alone. He had been closer to his loved ones when he had been buried above, when he had been dead. Now, he was some sort of freak of nature, alone in his strange magic.

_We are to live forever. Or die. And be dead… Forever._

He put his head in his hands. He tried not to run his hands through his matted hair, or his tiny frayed braids. Had he been given a gift, or a curse? Was he a grotesque phenomenon or a good omen?

_It took me a day to come back to life, the first time. Then half a day, again. The time was cut in half: Why? Am I getting better at dying for an impermanent amount of time? Am I perfecting resurrection? How can that be? Do I have more lives?_

The elf began to wonder if he dared test his theory. He had been given a second, and now a third chance. Could he waste them?

The elf realized that he had stood without much thought and that his body was his. He could control it now.

What does it matter? It's all borrowed time anyways. If I have to know, I have to know. No more fear. I have had it to death with fear.

Legolas emptied the water outof the boots and put them back on. He thenstumbled and weaved the few feet to the edge of the forest, which, he noted, refused to speak to him. There, he broke off a strong, serrated branch. He kneeled. He propped the bluntest end against the rocky ground and the sharper end against his throat.

_I pray I have the strength for this. I shall know what is meant to be – in life or in death._

The prince took a shuddering breath and released all restraint. He let all of his weight fall against the branch. There was a moment of white pain and then instantaneous lifelessness came to the bloody pale creature with the tree through his windpipe.


	7. Deadmares, Dusted Wings, & the

7) Deadmares, Dusted Wings, & the Affliction of the Tree 

Six hours had passed since the shores of the gorge had seen elven life. The sun had recently set and the creatures of the woods were settling down for the night, ready to pass the roll of activity over to the nocturnal beasts, when the land fell dark.

Back from the water and the boulders, where the seemingly impenetrable wood began, there was blood everywhere. Ten pints of it had sprayed all over the evergreen branches and run black and pooled over and between the river rocks. And the bloodless carcass lay amidst it all, having fallen over with a branch rammed through its air passage.

Again, the hands were the only part of the body that appeared alive, wrapped around the branch, which they had done after death – a last plea. The elf's hands were the most integral and innovative of all of his instruments. They could not stop doing, even in death. And these hands didn't care about rods through life-giving throats, or ten pints of blood on the ground. They cared about doing.

What woke them after six hours was unclear. However, what was perfectly clear was that this piece of wood would have to be removed from the neck. Without hesitation, twitching or testing, the hands summoned the strength of the arms and slowly pulled the branch from the oesophagus. Blood that had been held within the walls of the throat by the tree spurted forth. The rod slid out with a sickening "gloop," though there was no one around to hear it.

The fire in the heart exploded and lit the brain. Within moments, breath had flooded Legolas' lungs and his brain was sparking. His eyes blinked open. He took in the gorge and knew at once all that had happened to him.

_Incredible!_ He thought, his skin prickling. _I am alive, again…. I am mastering death…This is so very wrong… I truly am immortal…_

He stood and stared up at Rivendell, feeling as though his mind had stalled. He swayed. And then all at once, it seemed obvious what he should do.

_I will not use a branch again. That was most unpleasant. What I truly desire is a sword or even an arrow point…Something that will bring instant death…_

He leaned against a large boulder to think in the gathering darkness. He looked down at his attire. He was now clothed in little more than a blue silken rag that hung draped off of his shoulders untidily. He had no weapon with him. They had not suited him with a defence in death. They had not thought that he would need any.

_Why am I trying to be creative? It's not as though it is a contest… Still… that branch was … _He shuddered.

The water of the falls thundered behind him and he froze as a terrible thought crossed his mind. He turned and began wading into the water over the slippery stones. He picked up the largest boulder he could carry, subconsciously and ironically careful to bend at the knees and lift, so as not to harm his lower back, and continued to wade deeper.

Where the water grew dark and he could no longer reach the bottom, he thrust himself down, pulling the heavy rock onto his stomach. It weighed him straight to the gloomy bottom. Legolas felt his lungs panicking. He let his air out of his mouth in large glossy bubbles until his body was completely empty. He had to fight all of his instincts to keep from trying to free himself and swim for the surface.

He stared up at the white ball above the surface that was the emerging moon and waited for death to come. He tried to be patient. He tried to meditate.

He would begin upon a path along a peaceful field in his mind. He walked slowly towards a large boulder in the centre of the field.

But his mind kept skipping off to the right, creating a dark forest. He tried to pull himself back to the peaceful field, but he could not. The darkness kept flashing over the gold of the field.

He entered the forest, desperate to find someone…Desperate to find Estel! He clawed through a wall of branches and thorns and black foliage, but seemed to get nowhere. His brain was aching terribly from lack of oxygen, but in the forest in his mind, it was the thorns that were killing him.

_Why can't I find you?_ He wondered dreadfully.

He pulled back branch after branch and saw nothing but more branches. He was becoming more desperate and yet sleepier inadvertently.

_I can't find you, Estel… I'm dying…_

His head sunk low on his chest in the murky water. He kept pulling thorns away as he ploughed deeper into the forest, but this action was much slower now. He thought he saw a glimpse of brown ahead, through the next few branches. He pulled them back. It looked like Aragorn's hair. He wasn't moving.

"Aragorn!" Legolas choked out in his mind.

But the ranger would not respond. The elf pulled back the last two branches to excruciating agony and just as he was looking up to see if he had finally found his comrade, his heart stopped. His brain fizzled. He died, the last useless beads of air clinging to his blue tunic under water like mocking pearls. It was slow and quiet; yet there was nothing peaceful about this death.

* * *

Aragorn had headed east, certain that he should be able to find the mysterious forest of Legolas' death. Once within the forest, he would find the dead marsh clearing where they had been attacked. He was confident that the attackers would have left behind some clue - perhaps tracks that he could follow. Perhaps he could at least find some evidence as to who they were. If he knew that, he might very well be able to find them.

He followed the highway away from civilization as the sun began to sink. He walked his tired horse over the smooth, flat trail through tall, green grasslands riddled with round boulders. He was certain that the elves had brought him in the wagon by this same road. He knew these fields well and thought it a shame that he had rode so hard and angrily the evening before. Galloping fast over this area had always been a sure joy for him. But now, his horse was much too exhausted.

Ahead, tall, straight alders closed in on the path and fed off the moisture of the creek that meandered over to join the road's side. It was hardly a forest, but Aragorn was sure that if he kept heading east, he would eventually find the wood he sought.

However, the more that he thought about that forest, the more unsure he was of his memories. Where, exactly, was it? How had they stumbled upon it? Why had they never been there before? Did it not have a name? None of it made any sense. The elves hadn't mentioned it either, nor had they even asked Aragorn what they had been doing there.

_And my mission is officially abandoned._ Aragorn thought. _Well, it doesn't matter. Whatever conspiracies that forest holds, they will be solved in time, after Legolas is avenged._

Down the road, half on the trail and half amidst the trees, was a rider. He seemed to be a man, dressed in dark robes. He had a wide-brimmed hat and a black horse, which pawed impatiently. The man sat with his hands lightly on the reins and a bowed head. He was obviously waiting for Aragorn.

The ranger subtly gripped the blade, which he had strapped to his leg under his cape. Atop his mount, he slowly walked up to the man and stopped a safe distance away.

"What is it that you seek beyond here?" The man asked him.

"I am seeking a forest beyond this glade. And may I seek the identity of he who enquires about the business of others?" Aragorn answered without hesitation.

The man looked up from under the brim of his hat. He had developed lips, limitless black eyes and long, scraggly black locks. He looked Aragorn in the face for the first time. " You are upset. Something very terrible has recently befallen you." The man paused. "Your voice says everything for you."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes, his whole body tensing. He barred his teeth and tightened his hand on his blade. He was determined that he wouldn't tell the stranger anything more. However, after a long silence, Aragorn relented, his face falling.

"The terror has not fallen upon me." He said. "It has fallen upon my companion."

"Ah. I see." Said the stranger.

Suddenly, something caught the eye of the man and he whipped out his blade. On reflex, Aragorn matched the man with his own blade, ready to do battle. But the stranger wasn't looking at him at all.

"He's here!" Hissed the man.

"Who?" Aragorn asked.

Then a beautiful monarch butterfly came into his vision. The stranger slashed his thin and agile knife at it, but missed.

"Run! Hide!" He said to Aragorn. "Save yourself! You will fall to it!" With that, the stranger kicked his horse into a canter and flew back the way Aragorn had come.

Aragorn peered up at the butterfly. It looked to be an innocent blur of yellow and black fluttering. _That man knows this butterfly? That's madness. I have more reason to mistrust a strange man than I do a normal butterfly. Either that man was trying to deter me from going this way and taking my revenge, or he was completely mad . . ._

Aragorn walked on, the butterfly dancing happily above. He noticed what he thought to be a yellow pollen on his coat. He looked up and found that dust was tinkling freely from the wings of the insect.

"It's going to die." He muttered. He walked slowly and admired the shimmering sunlight that dappled the leaf-covered ground and the trunks of the alders. Warmth clung the evening air and licked the ranger's face delicately. The quiet trickle of the stream soothed him and he . . . couldn't . . . stay . . . awake . . . any longer . . . And just before he fell from his horse, dead asleep, his drugged and helpless mind offered up one last feeble reflection:

_That . . . cursed . . . butterfly . . . casting evil . . . spells against . . . me . . ._

* * *

_I…I can't breathe!_

So spoke the lungs of the elf. Neither the brain, nor the heart knew such words. They were dead, after all. No, these were the words of the lungs, perhaps with the aid of the hands, which, to this point, had been so full of life, even in times of death.

Nonetheless, there could be no explanation for how the elf's body was fired into life three hours later. With all due science, it could be described as no less than miraculous. Face down, the limp body floated downstream slowly. The rock had, at some point during the early evening, given into gravity and fallen further, to the very bottom of the river amongst the others. As the slow-moving current had pushed the uninhibited body along, bubbles in the water had formed air pockets under the elf's billowing clothes and lifted him to the surface.

How the sparks of life heralding Legolas' previous resurrections could hope to be struck in such wetness, with no hope of air seemed dismal. Therefore, where the dreams came from or even the inspiration fuelling the resuscitation could not be traced. The only thing that was certain was that the mind, long before the body had taken any steps to bring it to life, screamed, "Aragorn!"

The eyes snapped open to the black blurry cold water. All at once, the entire body was alive, and filled with terror and rage. The mind had never been more awake, more clear. Legolas willed his body to roll over and so it did. He inhaled as much air as he possibly could, filling his chest cavity to its very bottom. Without thought or hesitation, the Prince swam for the nearest shore. He paid no attention to where he was, or rather, how lost he was. He pulled himself up the slippery rocks like a merman, holding his legs and lower body perfectly still. He dragged and dragged until only his feet remained in the water. Then he collapsed, exhausted, his cheek smushed against an algae-covered stone.

"Estel…." Escaped his lips on his first exhaled breath, as he lay resting.

_What…. What's happened to him? I've got to get to him! _

And, forgetting entirely about his present resurrection, the elf made to stand. His entire body shook with the effort and the shock of its once more being asked to perform its duties. He stood, swaying dizzily on the huge, round river rocks. He fell sideways and caught himself on a huge rotting stump that lay amongst the boulders. But his thoughts weren't on the stump or his dizziness. He wanted to know why everything in his body was telling him that something had happened to Aragorn. He rested with his arms pushing against the stump, keeping himself up. He looked at his feet, willing them to work.

_Come on! We have to master this together._ He said to them.

He pushed himself away from the stump, determined to stand on his own.

He no longer cared about life or death, what was natural or unnatural or mastering resurrection and thought upon it not a moment longer. All he cared for was finding Aragorn.

He was standing on his own and began to slowly walk into the woods, casting a wary glance up at the pallid moon. He could see no other choice, as he was all but stranded on a small beach of stones, down river from Rivendell on the opposite side of the water. He staggered along little deer trails within the dim forest, surrounded by stringy-barked evergreens and little underbrush.

However, the more that he thought upon his friend, the more desperate he became. The more worried he became, the faster he tried to move, and all at once, he was running. His weak body was not ready. It began to tremble and wouldn't hold him up.

He lost his concentration and his grace and fell clumsily over a root. He crashed into the dirt and wood chips and the mess clung relentlessly to his wet clothes.

He then noticed for the first time a large slash in his boot on the top of his ankle, his bare skin exposed. This was the exact spot that had grazed the root. The elf cursed and coddled his ankle with his hands. Through all of his deaths, his clothing had taken the same beating as his body and now lay in shambles, hanging off of his ashen body like drenched silk shawls.

As he began to push himself up, he heard a hissing noise. He looked behind him and saw that the protruding root was sizzling and turning black. The black spread like a disease over the root and it shrank into nothing as though it were on fire. With no more root, the disease seemed to disappear. Abruptly, the root's plague showed up at the base of its tree. It spread up the seventy-foot high elder cedar, rapidly turning brown to black. The sizzling sent curls of smoke up the tree and Legolas watched from the ground as it ate the tree alive like acid. The base began to get thinner and thinner. Though the tree would not speak to him, the Prince knew that it was dying and that very soon it was going to be no wider than an arrow.

Sooner than he would have liked, Legolas' prediction came true. The base was now crumbling like blackened cinders and before the rest of the tree had the chance to follow suit, it began to fall.

The elf cursed again as the shadow of the ancient tree fell upon him. There was no time to think. The elf rolled backward and flattened himself against the ground just as the trunk crashed down upon him.

He was thankful that his estimation had been correct. The trunk was mere inches from his head. Slung over another stump, it had been suspended just high enough to avoid squashing his head in. He pulled himself out from under the tree, his knees shaking. The elf cursed a third time, observing the damage.

_What was that! _He ran his fingers lightly over the charred wood but nothing happened, nor was the mystery revealed to him. The wood was neither hot nor cold - just burnt.

_I can't understand._ He ran his fingers back and forth, grieving for the dead tree until he remembered his purpose.

_Estel!_ He made to run, but checked himself immediately. _No falling. I have to master myself first._

He had to content himself with simply walking as fast as he could. As he moved away from the tree and closer to the forest road that led to Rivendell, he wondered why he had been so concerned about dying from being flattened by a tree.

"I don't die." He muttered and then immediately shuddered at the idea of waking from being flattened dead by a tree trunk.

TBC


	8. Green Life, Charred Bone

8) Green Life, Charred Bones

Legolas followed the highway uphill all night. He was beginning to get an idea of exactly how far he had drifted during his latest death. His rock-as-a-weight idea was even more flawed than he thought.

Though he knew the woods that the trail cut through very well, they looked different. He knew the voices of these trees well. He knew what they would say, their opinions, their wisdom. But they refused to speak to him now. He couldn't even hear them muttering amongst themselves, as he knew they certainly must be.

However, what he saw wasn't quite like anything he had ever seen before. He could see vividly and perfectly everything in the forest that was alive in direct contrast to that which was dead. The living trees and foliage swirled with light green design, illuminating their veins. The rocks, alternately, hummed with a dull black. The dead trees also contained this black colour, but with lights of green within where the bugs, plants and other life were alive, utilizing the rotting wood for food and fertilizer.

"What is this new sight?" He said aloud. He turned to a tall evergreen. "Why won't you speak to me? I didn't ask to be reincarnated. I didn't ask for anything. Yet you won't forgive this unnatural occurrence?

Legolas' mind was beginning to move along faster and make connections that he didn't really have proof of. He was becoming disheartened and the trees' snobbery did nothing to calm his fears about Aragorn's fate.

The tree said nothing.

"I will not forget the way that you have treated me here, this night…"He whispered and turned on his heel and carried on, clumsily up the path.

In his flushed anxiety and anger he felt more and more ill. His head felt empty and light as air. In great contrast to the darkness, the bright lights of life in the forest hurt his eyes and he was beginning to feel dizzy. He swayed from side to side all the way up the path, using the trees to balance off of. He carried on, determined to ignore his own discomfort and secure transportation from Rivendell.

The pink clouds of morning presaged the arrival of the sun as he neared Rivendell. He slowed. He could hear elves moving on the fork in the road ahead. Without thinking, he ducked behind a tree to avoid being seen. He wasn't sure why he felt like some sort of criminal or fugitive – it felt as though he shouldn't be there. However, he did know that he didn't want to run into anyone, but that he wasn't going to get anywhere on foot, especially with this dilapidated body that barely listened to his commands.

_I need a horse. But the stir that I would create by showing up, presumed dead. . . My father still there. . . _His throat hurt terribly. He decided that there was no alternative to sneaking into Rivendell and stealing a horse.

Ahead, the Prince could hear the Elvish murmurings of a couple of hunters. They were exclaiming to one another about some blackness down the trail, but Legolas wasn't listening. Instead he was focusing on how he could use their distraction to sneak through the trees and over the bridge without being detected by their keen hearing, or being exposed by the ever-lighter morning. As they moved down the path the way that he had just come, he snuck toward the bridge, through the dense brush of the forest, careful to move as they moved, his noise absorbed by theirs. At the foot of the bridge - the very bridge covering the water that, a few hours ago, ushered him to his second death – he knelt in the high grass and listened. He listened hard over the thundering water of the waterfall and over his own pounding, exhausted heart.

_Quick and painless!_ He told himself.

As agile and swift as a cat, he rolled low over the bridge and hid in the grass on the other side. He turned and kept himself from looking at the ruined mound of grave-dirt where he was supposedly buried. From here he moved behind various trees and walls trying to avoid being seen on his way to the stables.

It was then that he heard a loud rumbling that sounded like a staggered explosion. He froze. Were they under attack?

There was no time to find out. He slunk into the stables, checking carefully to make sure he was alone. Upon his entrance, the horses all perked up in their stalls. They glowed green to his eyes as many stamped nervously. Some tried to back away as he stepped forward, but none acted so violently as those closest to him. A bay mare and a dappled gray angrily reared to the best of their abilities, tied within the stalls.

Legolas was shocked. This had never happened to him before. All animals had always responded with warmth and respect, in light of the deep connection between elves and all life, as well as his own love of such creatures.

Astounded as he was, he moved quickly to try and calm the frightened horses. He shushed them as gently as he could, reminding them in Elvish who he was and that he meant them no harm. He told them all that he had had a rough week, but that that didn't change the deepest reverence he felt for all of them.

Slowly but surely, he succeeded in calming them. Despite his success, Legolas felt the strangest suspicion that rather than being calmed by his words, it had been the tone in his voice that had finally won them over. But that didn't make any sense. Since when could he not articulate himself to other creatures? But there was no time to wonder about such trivialities. It would soon be time for breakfast and the stable master would be down soon to feed these beasts.

He chose the bay mare that he had initially frightened the most deliberately because she was spirited. He wanted to reinstall as much confidence as he could, so he chose her. She also looked nimble.

He moved quickly, taking her saddle and blanket from the peg near her stall. He slid the blanket and then the saddle over her back, her warm fur the first soft sensation he had felt since his death.

She suddenly stood erect, her eyes bugling, her nostrils flaring. And then, the elf's eye caught on something black. It took a moment for him to realize what he was seeing. His eyes widened and his stomach turned into a horrid block of ice.

Black was rapidly spreading all over the horse's back like a plague, charring and disintegrating as it went. The creature gave a grotesque scream as the disease trickled down her legs and burned and charcoaled her like acid.

"What! No! Why is this happening? Oh Valar, no!" Legolas fumbled, trying to stop the spread, trying to hold her up even as her legs disintegrated and she began to crumble into dust.

But there was nothing he could do. Her face turned black and her bulbous eyes, which were now milky and bright in contrast, accented her voice, letting out one last strangled plea for help. (Legolas heard dimly that in her plea she was appealing to the other horses, hoping that they would save her from _him_ – the enemy.) The coaled horse fell into a pile of charred bones and dust while the elf stood, his hands open and shaking, not believing his eyes.

TBC


	9. Tariël's Flight

9) Tariël's Flight 

"M-my hands……." Legolas was horrified, his voice shaking uncontrollably. Not able to bear the sound of his own voice, he fell silent and then fell to his knees.

_I must have t-touched something terribly poisonous in the f-forest…_

Struggling for answers, he looked around, unable to think of what he should do next.

_A-aragorn…. Oh dear creature, please forgive me._

And he decided then and there that he could do nothing more for the creature which he had so regretfully and irrevocably damaged. He needed to get to Aragorn and that was that.

Now, all of the horses were rearing and squealing, trying to get away from him. But he was oblivious to their antics. He got to his feet and moved quickly to a cupboard where he pilfered a pair of leather gloves. There was no time to try and decontaminate himself, whatever the toxin.

He moved quickly to the gray stallion, which backed away from him into the wall, tossing his head angrily. Legolas took the saddle and its pad from where it lay limply over the black dusty pile of rib bones shaped like the frame of a steeple. He had not time for words of comfort, but smoothed the saddle as gently as he could onto the frightened animal. The stallion made the tacking up as difficult as possible with obstinate jostling. Finally, all was ready and, after stealing a cloak with a large hood, the elf mounted. The gray showed all signs of preparing to buck him off.

"Tariël. Tariël!" Legolas spoke the name written on his stall door. He spoke softly to him and then begged him for his help. Before waiting for a physical answer, the elf squeezed him into a desperate canter out of the stables and down the path leading towards the bridge. He pulled his hood tight down over his head to avoid being recognized by the blur of elves he raced by on his way out. The sun came over the edge of the mountains and cut the sky with a gold blade.

As he flew over the bridge, he noticed a large plume of dust lingering in the air over the path that he had used to travel to Rivendell a short time before. As he passed over the trail at the crossroads heading east, he saw a large gaggle of elves and a great blackness where the noise of explosion had come from. A large number of random trees had fallen all along the path, creating a great black scar amidst the green of the living.

_What in Middle Earth?_

But as with so many things at the moment, he did not have time to worry about them. He was of one mind.

He found as he left the outskirts of Rivendell that he was having to fight Tariël less and less over the bit and that the creature was beginning to spend less time running erratically all over the path, trying to avoid his leg. He told the horse how wonderfully he was doing, hoping that encouragement would lead to more good behaviour and carried on. He knew where Aragorn would have gone. He would have gone to seek revenge on his murderers and he knew that he would be tracking them. The only problem was that he knew nothing about locating the strange forest of his death. It had to be east. That seemed obvious. But where and how far?

Several hours later, horse and rider were exhausted and had been walking for some time. Legolas knew that they were nearly at the edge of the forest bordering the boundaries of Rivendell and would soon enter the plains riddled with random boulders. A daft side of him imagined being able to see Aragorn in all of those open spaces and his heart leapt with the hope of it. But in his head, he knew that the odds that his quest would be over so soon were small. Abruptly something caught his attention. The stallion jumped to the side, pawed the ground and snorted nervously.

"I've heard it too." Legolas told him. " There are orcs nearby… They are behind us, disguised in the trees…" The horse danced slowly on the spot while the Prince thought, weighing his options. "I guess we'll have to beat them to the clearing where it's bright then, won't we?" The horse tensed his muscles further, prancing, awaiting the command. "Ok, Táriël, right-"

An arrow whizzed by his head, grazing his hair, nearly taking his head off and jammed into a branch behind.

"-now!" Legolas squeezed the stallion into a gallop with all his might as arrows zinged past his head on every side.

_What are they doing here, so close to Elven territory? I swear that this whole world has gone mad!_

He cursed as he dodged arrows, riding hard, swerving every direction. He kept looking back. He couldn't get a clear idea of how many of them there were but they were still within range of their crossbows.

_We're almost there! Almost in the bright sunlight, where they cannot hope to be a threat to us!_ He looked back to the front, to judge how much farther the clearing was and the last thing the Prince saw was the brown of a low-slung branch as it came into contact with his face. Then, he saw stars, heard a thud, then dark. Tariël carried on, running terrified of no one specific evil. Legolas remained unconscious amongst the leaves of the path floor, his white lips seeped blood, his hair and cape splayed around him.

TBC


	10. Maeryn's Mudhole

10) Maeryn's Mudhole 

It was the terrible pain in his neck that awoke him first and he quickly became aware of a cold, damp, crispness to the air that bit his face. He opened his eyes to see nothing but his own wan, if not translucent chest - malnourished with large purple plum bruises vibrantly staining it from his numerous deaths. The front of his tunic had been cut open. His head was cocked forward due to something hard that lay under his head. He longed to move and crack his neck, but instead, merely squished his eyes closed again.

"Oh, I am sorry." Said a scratchy old voice.

And the hard item under his neck was removed and his head lay flat with the rest of his body. Legolas didn't want to open his eyes to his next hurdle…

"I don't know how you managed it. I admit that I have seen it before, but never like this." The voice became recognizable as that of an old woman's.

"… Seen … what? Managed …? Arnnnnnggg." And the Prince's sentence ended in nothing more than a moan as a light began to penetrate his eyelids unbearably. He wasn't sure that he wanted to be awake anymore. His entire face felt broken, scratched and sore. His body, too felt bruised, which he gradually realized must have been from the fall off of Táriël. Where was that horse now? Oh, but what did it matter.

"It's early. We can talk about that later." The old woman said hastily.

He crushed his eyelashes together all the harder as, with extreme effort, he lifted his head and cracked his neck. He let out a gasp of relief. He didn't want to know anything about his surroundings, or who was with him or why he wasn't dead, or even if he had died again. He merely wanted to lay and try and heal.

"I had to cut your tunic open to make sure that you didn't have any internal bleeding. I thought that you fell on a rock. Your loud and clumsy chase caught my attention while I was out picking berries near the highway. I don't think I've ever seen a horse run more erratically, or an elf behave more inelegantly. Or a more feeble effort of escaping orcs… I was watching you flee and I knew something like that was going to happen. It was only a matter of time." The old woman nattered on.

Legolas wasn't listening. He felt a rough cloth dabbing the blood off his cut lip, which he could taste in his mouth. He tried to move his head away. He was trying to think: But wasn't he supposed to be doing something right now? Where had he been going? Why did it matter so much?

"Aragorn!" The elf screamed, his eyes snapping open, bolting up into a sitting position, finding that he had been lying on a raised bed of hard-packed earth.. He finally saw his surroundings. He seemed to be underground in a cave or hovel of some sort. The low roof was covered in tangled, wicked-looking roots, which had herbs and deceased animals, and other foods drying from them. The walls were packed earth with little concaves in which candles burned, casting a low golden light over everything. He could not find the source of the bright light, which had so terribly hurt his eyes when he had awoken. A fire burned in a mud hole in the wall with various cooking implements around it.

And next to him sat the most haggard old woman the Prince had ever seen. She had frizzy gray hair, withered and knarled skin that looked more like bark than living tissue. Her hands and face were covered with warts and she seemed to be growing more hair on her face than was natural for a woman. She wore a long dark gray robe that, despite her ragged appearance, seemed in rather fine repair. She moved quickly to comfort him, however, putting her hands gently on his arms, restraining him.

"It's okay. Everything will be all right. Don't move too fast. You are going to hurt yourself." She tried to calm his rapid movements, her wretched body softly glowing green to the elf's eyes.

He shivered as he remembered that what remained of his scraps of clothing had been cleanly cut open.

"Oh, you poor dear. You're freezing." She reached over and pulled a large filthy-looking quilt from behind her and wrapped it around him, tucking it under. The elf did nothing to stop her complete invasion of his private space. He was so frightened and so anxious to leave and yet, too sore to do anything at all.

And he began to feel more and more cold. His body began to shake violently, and he couldn't get Aragorn off of his mind, which ached miserably.

"A-aragorn…" Chattered out of his mouth. He was so tired, and frustrated with this new set back.

"I can feel your morale running lower and lower with every passing minute. You must stop this. Stop this shivering. It will be all right." The old woman began to run her hands over his blanketed arms rapidly, trying to warm him. It was then that he noticed that, though her words and her actions were kind, her tone was not soft. It was firm and responsible. In fact, her manner reminded him greatly of Elrond. But she was not important now.

"I-I.." Without thinking, the elf tried to stand. "I've got to go to him." His head swam with a wave of air and his eyes rolled back in his head, nauseating him. He fell to his hands and knees, his face, mere inches from the ground, and began to vomit – or at least tried to. There was nothing in his stomach and he could do nothing but wretch phlegm.

When he was done, and kneeling in shock, his quilt blanketing only his shoulders, the old woman finally spoke from where she stood perfectly still, "You have concussion. I tried to tell you not to move."

"Where am I? Who are you?" Legolas coughed out, his head hung low, his hair sheeting his face and his eyes clenched shut. Every inhibition that unfolded made him angrier and more desperate and this sickness was another slap in the face.

"My name is Maeryn. And this is my home. It lies within the forest on the edge of Elven territory, just north of your path. Now come over here and sit at the table. If you're going to vomit, you might as well have some food in you to make it worth while."

And she got up and put her hands under his armpits and helped him to his feet. She was shockingly strong for someone so old and stubby. Once he was standing, she told him to lean on her and she wrapped the blanket more tightly around his tall frame. She helped him into a seat that had been carved out of a stump and he leaned his arms on the table, rubbing his temples.

He doubted he would ever eat again. It was good that he seemed to have become immortal, as he had had no sustenance since Aragorn had made that tea for him when he was losing his senses.

_Aragorn!_ His heart leapt at the thought. To think that this had all started with some stupid mushrooms….

"Here you are." Maeryn said, setting a bowl of hot white soup in front of him. She then began ladling herself a portion from the caldron on the fire.

Legolas stared silently down at the soup, gripping his quilt around him. For the first time, it occurred to him that he had no reason to trust this woman.

As she was sitting down to her own bowl, Maeryn noticed that he was not eating and said, "Eat up. Even you will need your strength." And when he merely stared at her, her face fell and questioned him with her expression.

"It's just… What reason do I have to trust you?" Then, feeling the tension in the air pulled taught like a cord, the Prince excused himself. "If I may be blunt."

"Look, will it help if I eat too?" She asked, impatiently. "Because I was going to, remember? Look." She took up her bowl and began to drink. When she had finished half the bowl, she gave a satisfied slurp. "I will warn you though, it is hot."

"I'm not hungry."

"Rubbish."

"I don't much feel like eating."

"You need to eat."

"This is madness. What am I doing here, dining with a stranger, wasting time!" He suddenly blurted out, slamming his fist down on the table. Maeryn jumped but did not seem fazed.

"I know, I know. You're worried about your friend. But I wouldn't worry too much about that ranger rogue. He can take care of himself."

"What? How do you know about him?"

"It's pretty obvious. Everyone knows of your friendship. It's not as though you two have never been by over the years. So, it only seems natural that Strider would be the one that you would be searching for now. As for what is going on, I can only surmise. But he did go thundering by here yesterday."

"What! You know where he went!"

"You were on the right trail."

"Then I was right. He is in danger!"

"There is no proof of that. But do you see my point now? You need to eat so that you will have the strength to find him and face whatever danger is waiting for you out there in the woods." She picked up her bowl and began finishing it off as though to encourage him. "One needs to eat, even in your state." She muttered.

"What was that?" Legolas had picked up his bowl.

"I'm sorry?"

"What do you mean, 'in your state'?"

"Well," Maeryn started slowly. "You are dead."

The Prince nearly dropped his bowl.

"Even if I didn't know that you were the Prince of Mirkwood, supposedly dead, I would still know what you are. I can see it on you. Your entire body, even your eyes, are all just one big tell. But that's what I was trying to tell you when you awoke. I have seen those like you before, but never anyone so far gone. You aren't just dead, but you are dead over and over. As I said, I don't know how you managed it. You are incredible. Born again and again…."She shook her head at him in amazement.

Legolas looked down and avoided her eyes, unsure of how to respond to this sort of attention.

"You're not just the undead now. You are a miracle amongst even the supernatural."

"It . . .It doesn't make any sense." He began, reluctant to speak of it. "I have died over and over and each time I rise again, a shorter time dead for each death." Legolas slowly gained confidence and spoke with increasing ease. "And there doesn't seem to be any rules about how death, or life affects my body. I stuck a branch through my throat and yet, now, look, I have no hole, yet, I have bruises all over my body. Why?" He paused and waited for an answer, but Maeryn merely leaned forward and waited for him to continue. "Yet I see no reason why I cannot eat and digest and sleep and laugh and cry like any living creature." He looked her in the eye now.

"Oh, I haven't got any answers for you about that." She looked behind him, suddenly remembering something. "Curses. I have to go and bring in a deer steak I have marinating outside before the creatures get it. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right with you." Maeryn said as she began to quickly hobble to the stairs, which Legolas was only just noticing. "Oh, and don't touch Brom." Without explanation she limped up the stairs and opened the door.

Legolas pushed the soup bowl away. He would not allow himself to consider how ill he felt. He found himself rubbing his hands on the smoothed, rustic table. It was then that he noticed that he was not wearing gloves or boots. He rubbed his bare feet on the earth floor and glanced over to where they were stuck on pegs by the door. He wished vaguely that he had new clothes. It would be difficult to do any search and rescue with a split tunic, cut boots and disintegrated tights. It was then that he noticed a curious thing for the first time. In the rough dirt wall there was a mullioned window set into the earth itself. It looked straight into more dirt, serving no purpose. He looked around the home and found a series of windows, all of which shone clear through to more dirt. He decided that he must ask Maeryn if her home had been buried by mudslide. He then heard a flapping fluttering noise and looked back to his right and abruptly found a large raven standing on the table next to him.

"Hello." He said in Elvish. "Are you her companion, Brom? Aren't you nice." Legolas reached up and gently stroked the soft black feathers of the bird. Immediately, the plague spread from his hands across the bird and it dissolved almost instantly into a pile of charcoaled dust and tiny bird bones. Legolas instantly melted into a violent shaking spell. "N-not again…" He shivered. _Why? Why does this keep happen-_

"What have you done!" Maeryn shrieked. Stepping down into the hovel, a large slab of meat in her hand, she caught sight of Brom's new form. "I told you not to touch Brom! What was so difficult about that?" She let out a moan, dropping the steak into a basin and running over to the table. "My dearest treasure…"

"I-I'm so sorry. I never meant for it to happen. I don't know _what_ happened!"

"You touched him, that's what happened! You haven't noticed anything unusual happening when you touch things lately?" Maeryn demanded.

A cold recognition washed over him, his eyes widening, guilt filling up his stomach. _T-the root… the trees……………the horse…._ He covered his eyes with his hand.

"Yes. You know what I'm talking about now. How to know how much you've killed since you first died… You're dead. You can only spread death to everything you touch."

"Are you saying that I am becoming death itself?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It is nothing mystical. There is no divinity in it. You were not chosen as a new reaper for mankind or something. You are dead. You spread death. Just at the diseased spread disease. The plants spread seeds. You spread death which makes more dead."

Legolas let out all of his air, and let his head drop into his hands.

"I will help you find your friend, but you will one day help me."

"I will." Legolas agreed from within his hands.

TBC


	11. Duelling Cowardice

11) Duelling Cowardice 

A strange sound penetrated Aragorn's sleeping mind. He finally recognized it as birds singing. It seemed so false, so pretentious that birds would be singing while his drugged brain ached so. Everything was so fuzzy. He didn't care to open his eyes. The haze inside his head seemed confusing enough.

Where was he? His face felt warm and he could hear a creek running as well as the gentle ditties of the birds. But he felt angry. Something had happened to him, something unjust, something that had interrupted him while he was in the middle of something important.

Gradually he conceded to opening his eyes and as he did so, an involuntary groan emitted from his lips. A green and yellow filled his vision and slowly came into focus. The green slowly became the crisp leaves of the trees that lined the path he was lying on. Soft yellow shafts of sunlight streamed through them and fell on his hair and warmed his face.

_I will not be comforted._ He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, his hands supporting him on the dead leaves of the trail. How much time had passed? Something felt wrong about this afternoon sunlight. It felt false. He was too cold to believe that it was day, to believe that the sunlight was real. But how could someone mask the night with day?

"You fall so easily, it almost makes me feel sorry for you." Came an amused voice from behind him.

Aragorn whipped around to face the owner of the voice, but the sleeping powder seemed to still be in effect. His reflexes were slow. He did not find his blade already in his hand. Someone darkly clad stood in the shadows, just on the other side of the creek that lined the path. He was just outside Aragorn's line of vision. The ranger blinked furiously, trying to clear his eyes quicker.

The man laughed softly at Aragorn's frustration. "And I don't mean just you. Your dear friend, the elven Prince – well, that was simply feeble."

_Legolas!_ Aragorn stood immediately, determined to face Legolas' assassin at eye level. But it was too much, too soon. He lost his balance, stumbled backwards and fell gently into a sitting position. He fought back his urge to cry out in frustration, knowing it was what the other man wanted.

The robed man threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "You see what I mean? I'd say it is pretty obvious why you are here. But how can you hope to pose a threat to me when you fall even more quickly than the one who you have come to avenge? For all of your supposed glory, neither one of you has been able to face me like a man."

Aragorn once again leapt to his feet, unable to restrain himself. He was determined to stay up this time, and indeed found that the dizziness passed straight away. His vision had cleared and Aragorn could now recognize his enemy as the same man that had warned him against the butterfly. He realized now that the man had been playing with him. In fact, it seemed that the black-haired man was only interacting with him to waste time.

"Your dabbling in spells, potions and trickery makes you less than a man. It seems that I need not steel myself to face you, as you will never allow your opponent or victim within fifteen feet of you."

The man in black tensed.

"It seems obvious that you wouldn't last one minute of true face to face combat, so you keep everyone away, utilizing various deceits." Aragorn continued.

"You be silent!" The man snapped. "You are in no position to ridicule me. Look at you. The majority of your attention is devoted to standing up of your own accord."

"Well then, I don't see where the threat lies for you and your facing me like a man."

The man seethed and his breath came out in enraged puffs. "Very well. Let's have at it then." His voice once more became silky as he gained control of himself. "A fair fight then?"

Aragorn said nothing. He merely drew his blade and started towards the man. Legolas' assassin hopped over the creek and joined Aragorn, his blade in his hand. However, he kept walking even after he had reached an appropriate distance for a duel. Taken aback, Aragorn had not time to react, nor see what it was that the attacker held in his hand as he raised it to Aragorn's face and all went black.

TBC


	12. The Cast

12) The Cast

The next morning, Legolas and Maeryn set out on foot. Legolas now admitted to himself that he felt extremely frail, his body light as air. Whether it was that his deaths were taking a toll on his body or that he hadn't had any food or proper sleep in the past four or five days, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that his body had taken a beating one way or another and it was telling him so this morning.

He now wore a strange patchwork tunic that Maeryn had sewn of the remains of his burial garments and various other scraps she had had lying around. It was predominantly beige with pale blue silk highlights from his death robes. She had also fashioned him a ratty navy blue cloth cape that was fraying at the ends.

"Fine threads for a prince." Maeryn had laughed wickedly while Legolas smiled wryly, shuddering to think of what his father would say.

Maeryn now spoke as they walked through the forest, trying to explain to him how she had rescued him from the orcs. Her story didn't make a lot of sense. But then, Legolas thought, there were many things about Maeryn that didn't make a lot of sense. But it didn't matter how he was rescued. That was in the past. The only important thing was that he was on his way to find Aragorn.

Maeryn supplied the elf with a curved blade and a crude bow with a quiver of three or four arrows. Before he could speak, she said that she could easily make more before she would need to hunt again.

"That deer flesh should last me a few weeks." She chuckled. He didn't see what was funny about it.

By the time they reached the last outskirts of the elven forest, it was nearly noon. Legolas was now where he had been when the orcs attacked. He became more confused than ever as he realized the supreme distance that Maeryn's home was from this spot. But he said nothing. Instead he stared over the vast field with the boulders towards the distant forest that the highway entered. He had been right: it was silly to imagine that in the wide-open spaces, he would be able to see Estel.

"Well, here is where we part." Maeryn said.

"Thank you for all of your hospitality and generosity." Legolas said automatically, without his usual genuine sentiment. He hoped that she realized that he wasn't in the state of mind to muster a tone of true gratitude.

"Well, it is your people that have allowed me to live peaceably in your woods for all these years. I love your kind." She smiled. "Can't stand humans…"She muttered.

He smiled wearily.

"You go now, and find those cursed bastards who killed you, save your ranger friend. And don't forget not to touch anything alive with your bare skin, lest it should die."

At that moment, Legolas suddenly wondered if he even needed these weapons. But then he reconsidered. _Don't be ridiculous. You don't think like yourself. Not everything that you would need defence from deserves to die._ "Thank you, Maeryn."

The elven Prince carried on across the yellow fields. As the sun beat down on him, his thoughts alternated between longings for a horse, even one as suspicious and intelligent as Tariël, and Aragorn's safety. Eventually tall, straight alders came to line the path and a creek as well. It was here that Legolas saw a shape ahead, lying on the soft earth and dead leaves of the road. It was a man, clad in a long cloak that was now twisted around him and splayed on the ground in strange places.

"Aragorn!" He cried out. He ran to the figure. Aragorn lay on his back, apparently out cold. Legolas knelt beside him and for one fleeting moment, felt the joy of finding him alive and the sadness of finding him injured. Then, abruptly, the elf straightened, stiff as a plank and stood up. His stomach went cold, his white face bitter and angry, and his mouth drawn into a taut, straight line, his lips disappearing.

"This is the worst cast I have ever seen." He said in loud monotone. He stepped back, expecting to feel eyes watching him, but he did not. He looked around and around. "Where is the real Aragorn!" He demanded of the forest, but there was no one there. "Arrrrrrg!" He screamed in sudden frustration, frightening all of the birds out of the trees, as well as taking himself by surprise.

And without hesitation, he thrust his bare hand down upon the face of the ersatz ranger. It instantly dissolved into a thousand monarch butterflies. The elf stood, a yellow and black blur shining into his half-closed eyes, the flutter of two thousand wings upon his face, slipping across and tickling his soft, thin skin. His throat filled with a hopeless pain as he waited for them to disperse.

When they had all gone, he stared at the place where he had lay, water standing in his eyes. There was one butterfly left, perched on a dead leaf where the cast had been. Surrounding it were the dried black carcasses of the monarchs that had had the misfortune of touching his skin. It twitched its wings softly and Legolas knew that it couldn't fly. Its wings were patterned like stain-glass and looked as shiny, reflecting the ground like supernatural mirrors.

"It was you." He raged. He reached his hand down and seized the malicious insect. "You have collaborated with the killers; you will suffer for it here." And he closed his hand roughly, crushing the monarch and its enchanting wings. The crushing sounded of breaking glass and he let the infinitesimal yellow and black shards fall out of his hands.

He stepped back a few paces, breathing hard. He had to think rationally. If he continued to do nothing but feel, there could be no discovering what he should do next.

_All right… All right, think. What does this mean? This cast proves one thing: Estel did come this way. It proves that they have him. But they took the time to create a cast and leave it here. Why? Do they know that I am coming? That's impossible… Almost. Not quite. _

_But why put a cast here? It is a clue and they didn't really believe that I would fall for it, did they? How could they believe that I would believe this to be Aragorn and end my pursuit? _

_But if they knew I wouldn't fall for it, but they did leave it here for me to find, does that mean that I am walking into a trap? What trap? I am already dead. If they had plans to kill Aragorn, they would have done it already. _

_Or if they don't know that I am coming, was this cast simply meant to fool casual passers-by? Or to discourage others from continuing on this trail into the woods beyond? If they don't want people coming into the woods and stumbling onto whatever it is they are doing, then that is reason enough for me to assume that that is where I need to be heading. _Legolas' thought process sped up steadily until this last thought left him literally running down the path towards the darker woods ahead.

Legolas ran for what felt like hours into the dark wood until he could not run any more. He suspected that he was at the southwest end of the forest – the end that he and Aragorn had been seeking as an exit before they were attacked.

_How ridiculous._ He thought. _All of it. It's as though none of this was ever meant to be. And it needn't have been. If it weren't for my stupidity, falling for that spell, if we hadn't lost Brollas…If none of this had ever happened… Aragorn and I would be safe and alive now in Rivendell._

"There is a soft irony at my having to return here that I don't much care for! It's vulgar!" He yelled, as though angry at the very knarled trees themselves.

Legolas continued to walk the entire day. Though his weariness increased, he felt more and more lucid. Late afternoon turned into dusk and the scenery did not change. The highway cut through a never-ending tunnel of thorned bushes and twisted tree limbs. He could not see the sky and darkness was closing fast, the foliage no longer green, but black. The Prince was just beginning to consider camping in the middle of the trail when a brilliant spill of colour caught his eye. A splotch of yellow was floating towards him down the path, glowing in contrast to the darkness.

"You again! I'll kill you!"

And Legolas began to run towards the butterfly as it diverged off of the trail into the wall of dense branches. For a moment, the elf felt as though his feet had left the ground and all of his limbs were suspended in mid-air by the tangled mess of vines and thorns. Then he had landed and was running through the cavernous forest at the monarch who fluttered along, seemingly oblivious to its seeker. He ran further and further away from the highway, trying to catch up to the insect, which seemed to completely defy everything that the elf knew about the speed of butterflies.

_It will lead me to Aragorn's capturers; they are linked somehow… If I don't kill it first…_

The trees hung low and closed off the sky, creating a series of tree caves. This area reminded Legolas suspiciously of the area in which he had originally fallen prey to the musical spell. The only difference was that the Prince didn't feel soft moss carpeting under his feet, but rather rough dirt and thorns.

Then Legolas saw something ahead of him that he could not explain. It seemed to be a wall of solid brambles without end. Legolas watched the butterfly slip through and disappear into it. Despite his bafflement, he didn't want to lose it and forced himself to run up to the wall. Up close, he found that he could easily slip inside, as there were two walls that overlapped, leaving a hole. He ran through. It occurred to Legolas that this was some sort of barrier or border or fence. Once on the other side, Legolas found that there was indeed something that the wall had been protecting, if not hiding. Though very small for what it was, it rose high in his field of vision, black and solid and staggering. The elf's voice caught in his throat and he stopped so abruptly that he slid to a sitting position, lest he run right into it.

TBC


	13. Black Cottage, Black Feather

13) Black Cottage, Black Feather 

Legolas felt goosebumps push up the hairs on his arms and legs, snake up his back, and climax at the back of his neck.

Before him stood a black cottage so small that it seemed a model, yet somehow its smoke stack rose high above and demanded attention. He had never seen anything like it before. It did not coincide with Elvish or Dwarvish design, nor did it resemble the culture of Rohan or Gondor. This cottage was made of black wood, with tiny windows with shutters and a stairway up to the front door. Vines grew up the walls and a miniature water wheel turned the small creek that ran past the side of the house. It might have been quite pleasant, were it not that the house was black and surrounded by brambles and mist and foreboding gray smoke which puffed out of the chimney stack, inevitably suggesting that, not only did someone live there but that they were home now.

Though confident that he had stumbled upon something quite extraordinary and meant to be kept secret, Legolas tried to tell himself that he had no reason to fear. Even were he not dead, he still had his weapons. Still, he felt conspicuous, as though his time was running out and that he was trespassing most unforgivably.

Just as the elf was about to stand, the door flew open, banging loudly on the outside of the house. But there was no one standing in its frame. The door had opened to receive – to receive him. There was no debating it now: his presence was known. He slowly stood, his legs shaking slightly. He slunk towards the cabin, quiet certain that all he truly cared to do was to run the opposite direction. But he could not. He was being beckoned and he couldn't help but give in to the faint glimmer of hope that the dweller of this cabin would know something that could help him find Estel. His throat was cold as his legs stirred up the mist that hung low on the ground and was strung amidst the skeletal bramble branches. He hesitantly stepped into the yellow light that fell from the door over the barren dirt. He looked up at the mullioned windows, hoping to find the form of the owner sitting inside. He wanted to know what he was dealing with. But he could see no one.

He stepped up the wood stairs, which creaked irritably and stuck his head inside the door to call, "Hello?" He received no reply. "Hello? I need your help . . . I'm coming inside." He called deep into the house, reasoning that the open door had been an invitation.

He bent down to go through the small door and found the ceiling inside much more accommodating. Straightening up and stepping further inside, he gazed around at the one-room home. He gasped and dropped back a few steps and fell to his knees with a stuttering cry. The low roof was covered in tangled, wicked-looking roots, which had herbs and deceased animals, and food drying from them. The walls, though wood, instead of mud, had little concaves in which candles burned, casting a low golden light over everything. A fire burned in the hearth, which had various cooking implements around it, and a caldron of soup bubbled within. Though the raised bed was not made of hard-packed earth, it did have a filthy quilt on it. There was a table near the fire which had seats carved out of stumps around it. Instead of mud, the mullioned windows looked out to the dark knotted forest beyond.

"Garrrrrrrraaaaaa!" Legolas screamed grasping his head. "H-How..? This is impossible!" And he shuddered and quaked, his eyes full of the image of a wood house version of Maeryn's mudhole home. It was identical, right down to the bowls that they had eaten soup out of, which now resided on their shelf by the fire.

"H-How can this be true? I'm dreaming. W-why would she live in this forest? Have I not travelled at all!" He screamed, his breath coming out in horrific tremors.

_Is reaching Estel a hopeless impossibility? Is progress impossible? When will things begin making sense again!_

The fire blazed happily, as though someone was home and dutifully stoking it. And all at once, the last element of Maeryn's home came flying in through the door. A raven that appeared to be Brom fluttered in the open door and landed on the table, munching on a struggling monarch butterfly. It swallowed and stared at the elf. Legolas felt scrutinized by the raven's piercing black eyes and began to squirm, wishing to be out of its vision.

Suddenly it began to squawk. It dawned on him that the door had opened to receive Brom, not him and as the bird cried, all the elf could think was that he was being ratted out. The bird's call intensified and Legolas quickly climbed to his feet, determined to escape the noise as soon as possible. The noise became a crescendo, growing louder and louder until suddenly all of the windows in the house blew open. In an instant, the room filled with thousands of ravens flying in through the windows and door. The squawking filled his head and was the loudest noise he had ever heard. Thousands of feathers slipped past his body, tickling his face, beaks nicking his skin, wings fluttering gusts of air all over him. A scream rose out of the elf as he found himself trapped inside a black mass that filled the house, a cyclone of birds, though the sound of it did not reach his own ears.

Then, all at once, the ravens began to leave. They flew out the windows, ten at a time. Legolas knew this as, though his eyes were clenched shut, the frequency with which he was pelted with a body became less and less. Finally he opened his eyes to find himself alone. Even Brom had gone. But before the elf had time to ponder the meaning of this bombardment, he heard a cracking noise, and the wood floor on which he stood jolted downward, sinking several feet, the moisture-less carcasses of ravens that had touched his bare skin sliding down, crowding his feet. Another snapping noise left the east wall at an odd angle to the rest of the house and the elf looked up to find a large crack spreading across the wall. The floor he was on had already fallen several feet into itself when he finally realized that the house was falling in.

_That had been a warning! They knew!_

Panic spread into his lungs and he coughed the dust that was falling off of everything as it began to crumble.

_Get out! Get out of the house!_ He repeated over and over. But as he shook the fuzzy fear off of his mind, this became more and more difficult. He pulled himself out of the hole in the floor, leaving the dead birds to their deaths, and got to his feet on the remaining floor. The wall with the door cracked and began to descend into the north wall and pull the ceiling down with it. Boards, twisted roots and thatched roofing tumbled down into the hole that the Prince had just pulled himself out of. The floor fell out from under his feet and gravity pulled him once more into the house, his body crunching dried out bird bones. The north wall began to descend and though it should have ripped from the hearth, the hearth fell forward as well, the fire tipping out of its crude grate and onto the floor. The flames began to eat the wood greedily, spreading consistently around the remaining floor. Noticing the roofing collapsing, the elf curled into a foetal position as the wood fell upon him and flaming debris made its way into the hole from the table and bed.

_Get out! Get out of the house!_

The Prince could smell his cloak burning and he rolled on the slanted boards. He stood, trying to dodge falling wood and protect his head at the same time. He tried to get out of the hole once more, but he was now several feet down, standing in what would have been the root cellar and he could no longer step up. The broken flooring had formed a slide. He tried to run up it, but it was slick and he made little progress. The earth beneath the house seemed to be shaking as it self-destructed. Dust and dirt poured into his eyes and nostrils and he tried to run but he kept slipping backward into the hole.

Then the east wall gave way. Several tons of wood collapsed with a deafening blow and spread across the floor as though a floodgate had been released. The fire leapt forward and engulfed the new fuel. Smoke billowed under the boards and the fire ate at the wood, which became weak and was pulled down into the hole, burying Legolas.

For a moment, all the elf could hear was the sound of his own coughing. He had been knocked back into the hole and now lay curled on the cold dirt of the root cellar. Many pounds of debris and fire now lay upon him, separating him from safety. He couldn't move. He couldn't stop hacking. An old claustrophobia was creeping back in at the edges of his mind, threatening to take his lungs.

_You've got to get out. A corpse can still burn! Stop coughing!_ He rolled onto his back and tried to push the wood off of himself. _Come on!_

"Raahh!" He screamed, straining every dead muscle and sinew in his body. He pushed the wood back with extraordinary difficulty, and stood, panting desperately, only to find himself chest-deep in burning wood. He looked around, frantic for a fireless exit. His only solution was out the window in the remaining wall, where the fire had not yet ventured.

He gathered up all of his strength and tried to leap from the hole to the remaining floor near the south wall. But as he did so, something caught at his neck. He was yanked rearward and fell on his back, grasping at his throat. His cloak was caught in the debris! A loud bang followed the fire's shattering of the glass in the front window. Legolas cried out in frustration as he tried in vain to remove his cloak. It wouldn't come off! The clasp was stuck, or perhaps his desperate hands were too clumsy for it.

He ducked, narrowly missing a flaming beam as it catapulted towards him. There was no time. He reached decisively to his sheath and pulled out the long knife. He stuck it roughly between his neck and the cape's fabric, grazing himself slightly and sliced. The old fabric cut away easily and he quickly replaced the blade in its hold.

He leapt out of the hole onto the scissored floorboards, which were now cut like teeth and scrambled up to the floor. He felt flame grabbing at his boots, and all at once, it surrounded him. The fire conveniently put itself between him and the window, reaching its arms high, deliberately blocking his exit.

He had one chance. It would work, or he would be cooked. He threw his body, shoulder blade first, out the solid glass window in a shower of shatterings and flew to the cool black ground, many feet bellow.

TBC


	14. Beauty Hunter

14) Beauty Hunter 

Legolas allowed his stiff, sore, seemingly broken body to rest on the dirt of the forest floor. He watched the raging of the orange blaze above him, the only source of light in the woods, as it consumed the house. His chest puffed and he waited for his breathing to slow, his throat raw and blackened from smoke. He wondered what he should do next… in the dark… He gradually admitted that he didn't much care to do anything and that his limbs wouldn't move, even at his command. Slowly, the gold in his eyes blurred and without really meaning to, he fell into a deep sleep.

He awoke to the smell of smoke burning his nostrils and throat. A pale light pierced his eyelids and he momentarily could not remember where he was. At last it came back and he opened his eyes to find that morning had come to the forest, though there was nothing fair about it. The limbs of the forest were as black as they had been in night, though the sky shone a bright white overcast. The desolate dead quality of these cantankerous-looking trees was brought home to the elf all the more in daylight. He looked up at what had been the cottage. All that remained were the posts of the root cellar, charred and as black as the forest. The fire, Legolas noticed, had burned right to his feet and had, for no apparent reason gone out right before reaching him. The white twists of smoke still rolled off of the cinder beams that were strewn about. Then, as the elf slowly stood, the fire's strange journey to him did not seem as mysterious. The ashes of beams that had lay end to end in a trail from the house directly to his feet remained inexplicably.

At this, Legolas could only think in blanketing statements. Nothing seemed disconnected to him anymore and nothing seemed to happen without yet another reason that was unclear to him.

_What new evil is this? I have betrayed death once more. This very house and its fire had sought to destroy me from the moment I stepped in front of it. But this so greatly resembled an aboveground version of Maeryn's home. If this was Maeryn's house, why would she have rescued me only to destroy me later with her house? Maybe the house was booby-trapped to destroy whoever entered? _Legolas began once again to walk deeper into the forest, only now he had a new path that led away from the house. _But how do I know that she did, in fact, rescue me? How can I know she didn't just rescue me from the orcs so that I didn't die too quickly, some greater evil waiting ahead?_ The elf shivered. He was thinking thoughts too horrible to bear, for what could be worse than betrayal? What could be worse than his complete misjudgement of character?

The Prince had been walking for only half an hour when he began sensing presences. It mirrored his suspicions in the forest outside of Rivendell. There were orcs nearby. The elf tensed and put a hand on his sheathed blade, but kept walking. The black twisted trees were slowly becoming straight, green and lovely. The green was so bright, it was hurting his eyes after the shadows of the way he had come. The trees were thinning ahead, and as the elf came around a bend in the trail, the road ended and a small clearing of beautiful green grass lay before him. A light breeze blew over the elf's face and something white caught his eye amidst all the green. A small piece of parchment was blowing across the grass. It caught against his feet. He bent down and picked it up. Written in the Common Tongue, the note read:

_Whatever happens, do not allow him to touch you._

_The touch of his flesh will burn you and anything else that is alive to a crisp._

_I'll explain later,_

But the signature seemed to have been ripped off. A wave of worry washed over the Prince. Whoever had written this knew about what his touch now did and knew that he was coming. The elf looked around nervously searching for some sort of clue as to whom or where the note had come from.

And just in front of him, lying dead out was Aragorn. Legolas ran up to him, wary of a cast. But this was no cast. This was truly Aragorn! His stubbly face was white, as though he had been submerged under water for days; his hair fell back from his distressed features. His body lay twisted as though someone had dropped him there like a limp doll. The live green glow that the elf could see in the man's body was slipping away rapidly, as though being blown away with the wind. The ranger was dying.

"Aragorn!" The elf screamed. He fell to his knees before him and as he did so, he was reaching out to him to turn him onto his back. But as the elf slid to his knees, he remembered and stopped himself, quickly moving his palms aside, driving his hands into the ground with the force of the drop. The elf's hands twisted. He could not touch the man, lest he kill him for certain. The elf suffered a brief mental picture of the ranger's body disintegrating like the trees and creatures that turned to ash with his touch.

Aragorn was not waking. Legolas continued to scream at him, fighting with himself to keep from trying to shake him awake. He was certain that if he just woke him, he could stop the green of his life force from slipping away, if not slow it down. "Aragorn, please! Wake up!" And with these words, he all but reached out to touch his face, but stopped himself quickly. Could he touch him if he laid fabric over his skin? Dare he test his theory, gambling his best friend's life? For all past evidence perceived, there was no reason why this wouldn't work, but the elf reasoned that he would never forgive himself if it were he that put an end to the man's life.

"Oh, but no touching . . ." Came a taunting voice.

The elf's gaze snapped across the clearing, and there in the grass stood a man. He had a mane of black hair, a strong jaw line, noticeable lips and black depthless eyes. The man smiled almost shyly at Legolas' wide eyes. This was the man that had killed Legolas!

"Is that truly you? All the whispers, the stories, the evidence . . . But I could never actually believe it… until now. You are…alive." The man's voice was heavy with an unexpected amazement and admiration. For a moment, Legolas had to remind himself that this man was foe. "How did you ever survive?"

The elf ignored the question. "What have you done to Aragorn! Tell me how to save him!" He demanded.

"Ahah." The man laughed. "I'd forgotten how predictable you could be."

"Tell me now, or I'll cut you down."

"I don't think you realize the position that you're in." The man lifted the palms of his hands out in front of his chest and whistled at them briefly.

And the elf's ears filled with the most incredible music. It was the music that he had heard before he ate the mushrooms in the forest – the minor chimes playing the most eerie and enchanting tinkling. The man waited and a stillness fell over both of them. For a moment, the green-lit trees seemed to be shrinking down upon them, closing off the sky. Legolas blinked several times and found his mind quite clear, the forest quite tall. He stood.

"That's not going to work this time, daug!" Legolas was momentarily furious at the impertinence of this man and his cowardice. "Why don't you face me?"

"Because I don't have to. You fall easily enough to my skills."

"Well, I didn't this time." Legolas felt Aragorn's shoulder near his boot and his panic rose once more. "Now tell me how to rouse him!"

"Very well. But you will have to give me something in return." The man said simply. Legolas straightened, listening intently. "You will give me – your beauty."

"Done." Legolas said without hesitation. "Now cure him."

"Of course, you realize that for you to give me your beauty, you must die yourself? And this time, I will know for certain that you are dead."

"I _said_ done." The elf clenched his teeth, his patience waning. Then the elf doubled back, his mind quickly working, divulging the pitfalls of this bargain. The man watched the doubt in the Prince's eyes, knowing that he was reconsidering the value of his own life. "How do I know that you won't simply allow Aragorn to die, once I have … I have gone? How do I know you won't kill him yourself?" Legolas tried to appear firm even in his scepticism.

"Ah. I might have known you would ask such a question." The man smiled viciously, his malicious lips curling back to reveal the gleaming white teeth of a sneer. "You amuse me. It will be a shame to put that beautiful voice of yours to rest. You would have made a gorgeous addition to my music." The man pushed his long hair off of his black-clad shoulder. "I will rouse Aragorn from sleep while you are still alive, your beauty your own. I will restore him his natural strength. I will right him. I'll even give him a weapon. And only once you are completely satisfied that he is as capable of defending himself as I am able to make him, as he is in his natural right, will I kill you, not before. That will be our bargain. Now will you deny that I am a fair-"

" A fair what? What exactly _are_ you?" Legolas demanded. "_Who_ are you? Why are you doing all of this!"

"Ah hah. What sort of man is he who does not introduce himself – that's what you are thinking, yes? The sort that does not desire to be recognized, one would assume. Still, it does seem terribly rude and we've had such a good hunter-prey relationship so far. I'd hate to sully that with discourtesy. Ithast is my name."

"Ithast… That sounds familiar…"

"If it is, then I would say that you, Prince, have been consorting with soiled underworld types – a practice that would curl your father's hair. Because I don't think that you would have seen my name on any wanted posters. I am a wizard of sorts-"

"Don't flatter yourself." Legolas bit. With every passing moment, he loathed Ithast more and more. His frankness, his complete self-confidence, his impertinent desire for Legolas' beauty coupled with the fact that he dared to endanger the ranger's life, all beat upon the elf's mind as he tried desperately to race ahead of the man's speech and find an escape for both of them.

Ithast raised a black eyebrow, strangely shocked and yet amused by the elf's cheek. "He who can summon binding music at will – The Ithast – not a wizard? Well, believe what you will. I never told much anyone. I am a mercenary by trade and a bounty hunter when necessary. I never tell my employers of my gifts, but use them when necessary to get the job done. It makes getting things done easier and faster – the rewards greater."

"'Getting things done'? Like killing."

"Well, yes, sometimes. In your case, I was hired to start a war. My employers wanted you dead. They believed that once your father found your mangled body, he would demand that the elves went to war with the Rohirrim."

"What!" the elf hissed. "Who were these fools! And what reason did they have to desire war?"

"They didn't tell me and I didn't ask. That's not part of the job. But I have my suspicions. Any fool can surmise that it could be over territory. But it's more likely connected to jealousy. There are leaders among the men of these parts that now seem to feel more and more jealous of the elves and their radiance. If the elves in these parts were killed off, these men think that humans will reign as supreme beings." Ithast paused, clearly curious what Legolas thought about this. But the elf clenched his teeth and stared at the man, stretching his neck forward. "But it didn't really work out that way. When I first laid eyes on you in the forest, your beauty over took me. I knew I had to have you. I could no longer think of anything other than possessing your beauty myself. I abandoned my job and went after you with my own music."

"But you didn't take anything from me – except my life." protested the Prince.

"True enough. After we thought we'd killed you, I was going to take your beauty myself. But an associate of mine from the area – another wizard, as we call ourselves - showed up and began demanding a cut, saying that you were found on her territory. She pulled me aside and began drawing up her property lines. We argued for so long that the elves began coming and we didn't dare go back and collect you. After the body was returned to Rivendell, and we'd ensured that my orcs, hooded as elves buried it in the wrong place. We knew Thranduil would never have the gumption to dig you up again and at the edge of the city, I would be safe when I came to claim your face. But when I came to the place where the orcs swore they had buried you, we found your grave dug out and the body missing. I could only assume that I had been mistaken in thinking that Thranduil would not have you dug up. But then we started hearing rumours that the Prince was not truly dead… For once they were true, for here you stand."

Legolas said nothing. Ithast didn't know that Legolas couldn't die. That could only be a good thing. He knew something that the man didn't and that gave him confidence.

"There is a question in your eyes, Prince. I can see it waiting there."

"Why were there orcs so close to Rivendell, in Elvish territory even after my grave was found empty? Surely even you aren't thick enough to launch an attack with those pitiable forces."

Ithast laughed half-heartedly, as if to say, _Oh, that.._. "That is not my doing really. When we were in Rivendell, the orcs could feel a weakness growing in the heartland. It seemed that they had finally found their time to encroach upon the city. I know that it's foolish, but then, I didn't try to dissuade them. If they want to get themselves slain, it's not my business. So long as they did what I hired them to do." The man paused and scratched his neck. "But then, given the weakness, maybe it's not such a foolish idea after all."

"What weakness!" demanded Legolas.

"Well, in the leaders of course. Ah, I keep forgetting that you've been 'dead' and then scrambling through the woods… perhaps a mindless corpse all this time. Elrond's every effort and attention, time and energy has been devoted to Thranduil ever since you died. It's all he can do to keep the King from slipping into despair and dying of heartbreak. The city is in disarray, Elrond's leadership no longer felt." The man sneered. "It seems that your death is more useful than any of us could have predicted."

At this, Legolas wanted to lunge towards the man, to garrotte him with his own cold claws.

_Father!_ The elf felt his knees becoming heavy with guilt. It was ridiculous to think that such few orcs could really pose a threat to the foundation of Elvish territory, but then the kingdom was in shambles because of him, his father's life force slipping into the same dark death that he thought Legolas was in. And how could Legolas really be sure how many orcs were threatening Elvish territory?

_But then, if Ithast truly kills me, perhaps my father very shortly will fall to his heartbreak and Rivendell to the encroaching orcs? Would Elrond be able to restore order quickly and mobilize to fight off invasion? Don't be absurd. This man cannot kill you. But every time you die, you take the risk of not coming back again. Do you really want to risk the security of Rivendell and your father's life with it? But what about Estel? What about his life? This is ridiculous! How can I know what to risk? If I truly go, I leave Rivendell to whatever will be, I leave all of the Elven lands to the possibility of war with man, I could leave my father to ultimate death. _The elf clenched his hands tightly and the man watched with increasing pleasure.

"You're even more beautiful when you're angry. It comes to it now. What future will you choose? Will you continue with your life, go back to Rivendell, cheer up your father, stave off the orcs and the oncoming war with man? Will you choose to save the day and say goodbye to the life of your precious friend? Or will you write off all who had held you dear, the iconic value you had for men and elf alike, allow for war and death and the ultimate fall of the elves?"

"I thought you didn't believe that men or orc could bring down the elves?" Legolas felt a burning in his chest, which he assumed was his heart, his throat clamped down hard to keep from allowing his strangled emotion from escaping.

"It doesn't matter what I believe. Only your decision matters."

Legolas knelt down next to Aragorn's torso. As he looked at him, the green of his life leaving his pale tortured body, he realized that he would give anything to see him awake again, to be able to feel the life in him once more. And Legolas knew then that there was only one solution. Aragorn would right Rivendell. Aragorn would manage his father's pain. Aragorn could halt the inevitable war between the Elves and the Rohirrim. Aragorn would bring order back. Aragorn would rally with the strength and leadership that the elf knew he would not have even were he to stay there and fight.

"I choose Aragorn's life."

"Very well." The man smiled, looking up at the elf from under his black fringe, clearly pleased with the elf's answer.

TBC

daug: barbarian


	15. True Death

15) True Death 

The man took a decisive step towards Legolas, whom felt half inclined to back away. But, at that very moment, something hurdled towards the elf – something that he should have heard coming. Out of the dense bushes beside him dashed what could only be several orcs. Before they could be counted in the elf's peripheral vision, before the elf could attempt to tell his battered body to dodge the attack, a twisted spear stuck him in the neck. As he died, Legolas could hear someone yelling something in disgust, some sort of reprimand.

Ithast watched in horror as the orc's spear cut through the elf's neck, splitting open its main artery and allowing several pints of blood to spill onto the grass.

"What are you doing, you fools!" He screeched at them. "I didn't order you to kill him! I was going to kill him myself, on my terms, so that I could absorb his beauty! Now look what you've done! It may be lost forever!"

The orc who had done the slaying plucked the spear out of the elf's neck and the joined the others in a small gaggle in front of the body. Looks of fake shame fluttered over their snarling faces as they turned to their master. However, had the slayer-orc been paying attention to the face of the elf while removing the spear, he would have found his eyes quite open, his expression a mixture of anger and shock. Legolas' death and rebirth had been instantaneous. No sooner had the orcs turned to face their master, than the elf behind them had stood, albeit unsteadily.

In the middle of his ranting, Ithast had caught sight of the tall blond figure getting shakily to his feet. The man's eyes widened and his words caught in his throat as he formed them. Catching sight of their master's shock, the orcs looked behind them to find a fire burning in the icy blue eyes staring down at them. They quickly moved aside, grunting and squealing their surprise before they could stop themselves. There was no trace of blood or abrasion at all. And the elf was perfectly livid.

"You're alive! I-I just saw you die. I just saw him _kill_ you!" Ithast's mind struggled to catch up as he finally found his words. "How can you be alive?"

Legolas didn't feel much like speaking. He had almost landed on Aragorn as he died. He shuddered as he could almost hear the sizzling of the ranger's skin, had he touched the man. "You betrayed me." He growled without any air in his lungs.

Ithast thought privately that he had never seen anything as horrible as the anger clouding the usually crystal eyes of the elf. This sight made his lips bubble, suddenly letting a slew of explanations slip out of them like liquid. "You can't think that I had anything to do with this. This wasn't part of my plan! I didn't order them to kill you! It was my intention to honour our bargain, I swear to you!"

"Why should I believe you?" The elf's voice was dangerously low. He began to suspect that his own desperate frustration was coming to a head and that at any moment he might break down right in front of these enemies. It was too much. The end of his emotional strength was near.

"You must believe me. You must go ahead with our deal. You-You have no choice in the matter. If you want to save the life of your ranger…"Ithast found his confidence returning. The orcs too found their courage and laughed and snarled tauntingly.

The Prince realized that he was right. Whether Ithast was to be trusted or not was immaterial. He had no choice but to proceed with their exchange. Ithast wasn't going to save Aragorn out of pity. "I-I find that you…speak the truth."

The man's voice turned silky once more. "You see now that you have no choice. You will give me your life and your beauty and I will give you the life of your human." Ithast was suddenly struck with a thought and his face fell once more.

The elf's stomach dropped violently as he read the man's eyes.

"This…This makes so much sense." Ithast started finally. "All of the rumours… I thought that those whispers were just stories that were being passed around the forest… The uprooted grave…There was no way that I could have been mistaken about killing you in that dead marsh. I did kill you."

Legolas saw the orcs trying to subtly move away from him in the corner of his eye.

"And you came back." Ithast continued. "And then the stories about the blood by the river. The …You can't be killed! It was _you_ who was about to violate our deal!"

Before he could say anything, one of the orcs seized Legolas' sleeved arm and clamped a leather-bound hand around the back of his neck. Legolas did nothing to prevent this. The orc bent the elf to his height and pulled him forward. "Would you like us to test him for you, my Lord?"

"Yes." Ithast said viciously, his horror-struck face quickly melding into an angry one as he settled his gaze deep inside Legolas' eyes. Legolas did not move to defend himself or try to protest, but merely turned his eyes away defiantly. Ithast read boredom on the Prince's face and became infuriated. "Yes. Kill him in the most painful way possible." The fury blinded the man and he momentarily forgot all about his pursuit of beauty.

"With relish." Growled the delighted orc. Two of the orcs held him still, (though they needn't have bothered), and a third stabbed him with a hooked spear. The curved point went into his stomach on an angle and the slayer straightened it and pulled. While he knew the curved weapon was carving out his organs, the elf couldn't look. He let out the most anguished, harrowing scream that the man had ever heard as his intestines were being ripped out of him. Ithast closed his sore eyes quickly as fresh torrents of blood gushed onto the ground with each dig of the spear. The orcs were writhing with pleasure, digging, waiting for the Prince's screams to die out, but the man couldn't take anymore.

"That's enough." Ithast said in a dead voice. "Let us look now and see if he dies." The orc pulled the spear out of the dead elf's gullet. It had clearly been the only thing holding up the body and it crumpled to the grass without it. Ithast walked over to join the circle of orcs staring down at the body. His desire for beauty had, by this point, been completely consumed by his human curiosity. They watched, expecting to have to _wait_ for something, if anything, to happen.

But there was nothing to see.

There was no sound or movement, no light or precursor of any kind to the moment that the elf's eyes snapped open. In a moment, he was on his feet. No one tried to stop him. The man and the orcs were in a state of complete disbelief. The wound in the elf's abdomen was missing. Though his strange patchwork tunic was ripped, there was no hole, no blood. Alternately, the blood that had spilled out of him littered the grass. It was everywhere, it seemed. But however much blood the elf lost in his deaths seemed unconnected to what he contained in his body when he awoke. No one spoke. Legolas was silently praying that there was _something_ he could exchange for Aragorn's life, and fast.

Something caught Ithast's attention and he reluctantly tore his gaze from the dead elf standing in front of him.

"What are we all staring at?" Came the voice of an old woman from the other side of the clearing.

"Where have you been!" Demanded Ithast. Despite his obvious frustration, his voice shook.

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm late, but I never got a message from you."

"Your ruddy bird ate my monarch while it was trying to bring you my word!" Ithast sounded much more upset than the situation deserved.

"Oh." The old woman sounded rather sheepish. "Well, he's a scavenger, my raven. It has to be expected that he will eat whatever crosses his path."

The crowd of orcs surrounding Legolas shifted, parting a little. He finally caught sight of the old woman. He nearly fell to his knees.

Maeryn seemed to stifle a laugh. She wore a clean gray robe, and held a red drawstring bag made out of velvet. Her hair, on the other hand, was wild and frizzy, her warty face as ugly as ever. "Right. Well, I'm here now. What's all this?" She gestured towards the gaggle of orcs.

Ithast parted the orcs to reveal Legolas. "_He_ won't die!" He sounded close to hysteria. "How shall I have his beauty if he won't die?"

"Well, well, what have we here." She murmured.

Legolas stood tall and light amidst the dark creatures, his soft eyes glistening with fear and the sort of heartbroken depth of someone betrayed. He no longer glared, but merely stood with the resignation of one who is exposed, finding it useless to try to hide. Maeryn's gaze fell on him, but she seemed to avoid his eyes as a shadow of doubt drifted across her face. Legolas thought that he could see the smallest trace of shame at the corners of her eyes. But the faltering moment had passed and a grin filled her face once more.

"Oh, that."

"Maeryn, what _is_ he? How can he be killed for certain?" Ithast's fear seemed to have returned with the memory of his ultimate goal – the beauty of the elven Prince.

"Well, I don't know much about it. But killing him should be simple enough. You simply have to know where to strike." She smiled sideways at the elf, as though they were sharing a private joke.

"You're the associate – the other _wizard _he spoke of." Spat the elf quietly. "You helped me to preserve my 'beauty'."

"Smart and pretty." Maeryn said mockingly. "Well, we're going to split the beauty in half. You didn't eat my soup, which would have made separating out your parts much easier. But still I had to do my part in helping bring you here. Of course then you had to go and run into my house and ruin-"

"Don't!" Legolas put up his hand to quiet her. "Don't say anymore. I don't want to know."

Maeryn gave a short laugh. "What have you been doing out here, Ithast? He seems even more lacking in spirit than he was when he was in my home."

"Enough talk, Maeryn. Where do we strike him?"

"Calm down, Ithast. I have extracted a promise from him long ago. He has sworn to help me as I helped him and this will more than cover his debt. Now, let's see. When I first met him, I thought he was the exception of exceptions. I thought that he was much more powerful than the others that I have met who have been stuck in such a cycle, orbiting between life and death and that he might never be killed. I see now that he is merely the _extension_ of these types. He has been able to remain this way for so long that he has now perfected being reborn. Usually those who fall into these patterns are put to death much quicker, their people finding them unnatural and all. Of course, they usually aren't wandering, crashing around, lost in the woods. But he shouldn't be any harder to put into final death. It should be a simple regression. If you bind his wrists with whatever was the instrument of his original death, the spell that will drain his life truly away should be simple enough to cast."

Legolas felt as if a blade _had_ struck his wrists. He tried to keep his body even, his eyes unreadable, despite that his lungs were filling with a heavy fear.

"That's so simple."

"I know."

"Well, we'll need my sword," Ithast unsheathed his long sword, which Legolas finally recognized, it having once been imbedded in his torso. "And some scantalois. That shouldn't be too difficult. It's scattered all over the place." Ithast moved as though to begin searching along the ground for a patch of the mushrooms.

"And how about your music?" Maeryn asked.

"Well, my music and the mushrooms aided in his capture. It was the sword that 'killed' him."

"We will need all of them, if you want to increase the chances of the spell's success."

"I demand that you uphold our bargain!" Legolas spluttered suddenly. "Restore my friend's life and you can have anything of mine that you want, including my final death."

Ithast seemed surprised to hear the elf speak. He smiled wickedly. "You know, young Prince, your position doesn't seem so strong any more. Now that I know how to kill you, bartering with you seems less and less important."

"You were going to uphold our bargain before you knew that I couldn't die!" Legolas yelled, outrage and desperation augmenting his voice.

"True, but the fact is that we outnumber you now. And I don't much feel like being kind anymore, especially knowing that you were planning on going through with our deal without fulfilling your end of the bargain – dying! In short, you are no longer in the position to be making demands, Thranduilion."

Desperation welled up in the elf as he realized that it was true - he had few cards left to play. He had to suggest something – _anything_ – that would keep him on top, or both he and Aragorn were going to die, and neither of them was going to be able to help his father or prevent the potential onslaught of war. "You restore my friend or I will kill all of you with my skin!"

Ithast began to laugh, half confused, half bemused by the feeble threat. But then he caught sight of the seriousness of Maeryn's expression. She shook her head at him.

"His skin? Your note." A look of realization came over the man.

She nodded. "He kills whatever touches his bare skin. Look. Look at the grass." She pointed out various small patches of dead grass where Legolas' skin had come in contact with it during his two deaths. "Ithast, just give him his damn ranger friend. It can't really do any harm. He falls easily enough and if he wants to fight us, you can just blind him with your music and I'll make sure he's good and lost in my forest. We can easily escape."

Legolas' heart rose. Any solution was a good solution, so long as it involved Estel being brought back to life. He looked over to his left where the man still lay. The green of his life was still running out like sand in an hourglass – in fact, it was almost out! "Is it a deal?" He said sharply.

Ithast looked at Maeryn who nodded. "Very well." He said. "We will not cheat you. And we know you will not cheat us."

Maeryn went to look for the scantalois while Ithast began setting about restoring Aragorn's life to him. Legolas watched Ithast intently while the orcs watched him, making sure that he didn't try to make a break for it. Ithast knelt before Aragorn's white twisted body. He began muttering words that Legolas was quite sure he had made up and whistled a few familiar notes in a minor key.

_I can't believe I'm at the mercy of a couple of second-rate tricksters._ Legolas thought miserably.

But true to Ithast's word, Legolas could see green flowing back into the ranger's body. A pink was slowly returning to his lips and his usual sun-weathered colour was coming back to the surface of his skin. Legolas was leaning forward and holding his breath, impatiently waiting for his friend's eyes to open when Maeryn's voice found them.

"I've found them. Let's get started."

Legolas reluctantly tore his eyes from Estel to peer over at Maeryn, whose hands were full of the deadly gray mushrooms that had aided in his original death. She dropped them on a small patch of dead grass near Ithast, Legolas and Aragorn. She pulled open her little red drawstring bag and threw a pair of leather gloves to Ithast.

"Put these on." She told him. She put on a pair herself and, before Legolas could say anything, she walked behind him and kicked the backs of his legs in. Legolas fell to his knees. She took some old rope from her bag, (which was really a strangely strong sort of vine), and, taking Legolas' hands into her own gloved ones, began to bind them together behind his back. She took one of the lengths of rope, and, through winding it around his ankles, managed to bind the elf's hands in a cupped position. She asked him to test it, and sure enough, he could not straighten his hands flat. "Good." Maeryn grunted to herself.

"Spread and move outward." Ithast told the orcs to move out into the forest and stand guard.

"Sword." Maeryn commanded. Ithast carelessly handed over his incredibly long sword. Maeryn jammed it downward quickly behind Legolas' back. For one horrible moment, he thought that she was cutting off his hands, but no pain came. Instead, he felt cold steel between his hands. Maeryn has stabbed the sword into the ground between the backs of his hands so that the sword itself was part of the binding. The sword took up the extra slack, and the cord rubbed the elf's wrists painfully raw. But this was the last thing on his mind. He returned his eyes to Aragorn, whose body was almost full of its own natural green light. Maeryn took out more vines and tied him around the chest to the sword as though it were a stake. The Prince then felt Maeryn fill his cupped hands with the cold, slimy mushrooms, which, as instruments of his original death, failed to turn to dust. "He's ready." She said to Ithast.

"So is he." Ithast said about Aragorn. And true to his previous word, Ithast dropped a long curved blade next to Aragorn. Legolas watched as Ithast had second thoughts and bent and put the blade, which the elf recognized as the one that he had been carrying - the one that Maeryn had given him - into the ranger's sleeping hand. He turned and muttered in Legolas' ear, "Still don't think we're wizards, Prince?"

"I suppose there are good kinds and bad kinds. But wizards-" Legolas stopped himself. He wanted to tell Ithast that he didn't think that either of them was anything more than a common trickster who dappled in mediocre magic. But he didn't dare say anything that would anger them and make them take Aragorn's life away again, especially now that he was firmly tied up, a sword anchoring him in the ground, Ithast and Maeryn both safely gloved.

"Go on." Ithast taunted.

But Legolas closed his lips tightly. Maeryn came and knelt next to Ithast in front of Legolas. They were clearly about to begin the rite.

"I want to see that he is ok, just like you promised. I want to see that he can defend himself." Legolas insisted.

"Ah. Your rights have expired somewhat since our original bargain, Prince. I've given him a sword. That should be enough. He's quite fine, be assured."

"Just until his eyes open?" The elf tried.

The two 'wizards' looked at each other. Maeryn sighed. They scooted back a little, to clear Legolas' view of the ranger.

According to the green in his body, Aragorn was now as alive as either of the humans. The elf momentarily wondered what he would see if he looked at his own body. Would it be green like the living, or would it be as gray as the things he saw that were dead? He guessed he would now never know.

He watched his friend's face, trying to will him awake. Aragorn's eyes moved under their lids slowly. The elf's voice caught in his throat as the human's eyes fluttered open. Aragorn blinked several times. He moved the hand with the sword in it and, finding it holding a hilt, moved his other hand and rubbed his eyes. Slowly the sky registered in his eyes. Legolas wanted to speak, but no words were coming to him.

And before he could protest, Maeryn said, "Good enough. Let's get after it."

"Agreed." Said Ithast. They both moved in front of him, blocking all of his view of Aragorn, save the ranger's eyes, which remained confused. Perhaps, thought Legolas, he heard the voices, but his eyes were not yet ready to give him images.

"Give me your hand, Ithast." Maeryn said.

_So, this is it._ The elf thought. _The true end._

"Music." She prompted. Legolas' ears filled with the same eerie, skin-tingling sound he had heard the day he had gotten lost in the woods and fallen to the music - the day that he had fallen prey to Ithast's eye for beauty . . . Legolas was trying to judge whether or not this music was affecting him the same way it had that day, when a scratchy voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Legolas?" Came Aragorn's question. "Legolas! W-what is this? What is happening to you?" His friend's voice broke.

TBC

Thranduilion: Son of Thranduil


	16. Lifeless As A Human

16) Lifeless As A Human

Legolas looked solemnly at his best friend, his own piercing blue eyes drinking the image of his face and filling to the brim with water. He had finally got what he had been searching for – Aragorn's live eyes staring into his. This was the most peace he had felt since his death and he ached with the nostalgia of it – he had known this divinity all of his life and only now could he fully appreciate it. And then, remembering his predicament, a slight pink touched his cheeks and he hung his head, wishing that the ranger would avert his eyes away from him.

"Legolas. . . Is that really you?" Aragorn's words came to him slowly. He wished the elf would speak to him and verify that he wasn't dreaming. He pushed himself up, letting go of the sword and raised himself slowly to his knees to face the three of them at eye level.

Maeryn snorted. "Looks different now, doesn't he?"

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked her.

She gestured towards the elf. " Nothing like the way he looked when you two first came to my forest. Looks more… lifeless…"

Without meaning to, the ranger nodded. "Legolas, what is going on?" A desperation was creeping into his voice. Why wouldn't he speak to him?

"He's dying, you fool." Said Ithast impatiently, trying to concentrate on the spell.

A cold stone dropped into the ranger's stomach. "But he's already dead! How can he be here? How can he be killed? He was already killed."

Maeryn rolled her eyes. "He rose from his grave in Rivendell and has been doing it ever since. He couldn't be killed. Every time something befell him that should have killed him, it did not take affect. He kept rising again, alive." Maeryn could see the confusion resting on the man's face. "He is not the first of this sort of abomination. Every now and then it happens. No one knows why, but some cannot succumb to true death on their own."

Aragorn struggled to process this information for a moment, his gaze switching back and forth between the haggard old woman before him and the elf hunched over. "And-And now you're killing him? 'True death'? You're helping him succumb to 'true death'?"

"Indeed. _Helping_ him." A sneer formed on Ithast's lips. "There is a simple spell that can bring about an absolute death."

"But why?" Aragorn was astounded. "He's been given a second chance!"

Ithast allowed himself a bemused chuckle. "It's quite simple. We struck a bargain. I wanted his beauty and he wanted your life, so we arranged an exchange. He has his part of the bargain," Ithast held a palm out towards the ranger. "And now I need mine…" He said slowly, experiencing a wicked joy with each word.

"But…."Aragorn stumbled, realizing abruptly that the people before him were foe. He looked at Legolas, dreading confirmation.

Legolas slowly looked up, straightening. Surprising even himself, he found tears had seeped onto his face. Aragorn was horrified.

_Legolas doesn't cry!_

A terrible shame seemed to be burning on the elf's face. "It's true." He whispered.

"You _traded_ your life for mine?" Aragorn sounded both aghast and disgusted at the same time. "_Why_ would you do that?"

Legolas began to lower his head again, but the ranger continued with such rage that he couldn't look away.

"What were you thinking, Greenleaf! You've been brought back! You've been given another chance – several, apparently– and now you're just going to throw all that away? Did you ever stop to think that you were being brought back for a reason? You are obviously meant for great things! And you lob all that away just f- " The man stopped himself, his voice going hoarse from yelling. "If one of us has to die…."

"Then it can-_not_ be you." The elf's voice broke, true sorrow coming into it. He was crying indisputably.

"Why not!" Screamed the ranger.

"Because…_They_ need you. _Everyone_ needs you. You are the one who can solve all of the woes of-"

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care!" Aragorn turned to Maeryn and Ithast who were watching with mild amusement. " Stop this! Stop this immediately!"

Maeryn gave a short laugh and opened her mouth to speak but Legolas cut her off.

"No! Estel, they have been more than fair. I have got my wish, I cannot deny them theirs." Tears flowed freely from the elf. Dark circles hung under his eyes, blatant on his sallow, bleached face. His hair was ragged and hung upon him like straw, framing his sunken features. His tunic was a ruin hanging off of his shoulders, various rips showing evidence of his deaths as he knelt, bound to the sword in the grass. Even the beautiful green brightness of the sunny forest floor could not bring loveliness to the frailty of the elf's features.

"Legolas…" A shock filled the ranger's face and he could not take his eyes from the Prince. "You are quite human…."

Astonishment filled the three of them and they all stared at the elf.

"What…."Legolas began.

"No, no, he's right. Look at him, Maeryn. Have you ever seen an elf that looked like that?" Ithast said.

"No…He looks human. He does. No elf ever looked so…dead." Maeryn agreed.

"Legolas…What in all of Middle Earth has happened to you?" Aragorn whispered, moving forward and reaching out to touch the elf's face, as though to verify that he was real.

Legolas, who was beginning to feel as wild as they were all telling him he looked, had half a mind to bite the ranger's hand. For a moment, he swore he could hear Estel's voice in his head: _In death you become more human than you have ever been. . ._

_I swear I'm going to bite you._ The elf thought. But he never got the chance. Maeryn caught the ranger's hand, snatching it up in her own.

"On the other hand," She said to Ithast while looking deep into Aragorn's face. "He is already half dead. The spell is almost complete."

Legolas' skin had turned pearly, thin and translucent. All of his veins were visible under his skin and it seemed that his innards might, at any moment, break free and spill out onto the grass.

"Please- _please_ stop this! I beg of you! Restore him! You can have anything – anything at all. You can…"Aragorn tried desperately to think of something that he could offer the 'wizards'. "Have my life. Take _my_ life!"

"Your life is worthless." Maeryn said coldly, dropping the ranger's hand away from the elf's thinning face. "Anyways, we could have your life at any given moment, we wouldn't hesitate. So, don't think you're offering us something that we don't already possess. I own everything in my forest, boy, and don't you forget it."

"Besides, you don't have the ethereal beauty of an elf, much less _this_ elf." Ithast piped up. He stared at Legolas a moment. "Let us hope," He said to Maeryn. "That his live beauty is restored to him in true death."

Legolas had slumped against the ropes holding him up against the sword in his back. His eyes had glazed over and diluted as though a white film had clouded their blue depths. Aragorn no longer knew if he could see.

"Please! Stop! You don't need to live off the beauty of others."

"He's already been dead all this time, ranger. He's merely an organ donor of sorts – a feature donor." Ithast said.

"Ithast, concentrate." Maeryn chided.

Legolas closed his eyes.

"Legolas! Wake up!" Aragorn screamed.

"Why did I think you would go quietly?" Legolas murmured.

"I don't know, why did you think he would go quietly?" Said Maeryn dryly.

"Go, Aragorn. Get away before they change their minds." Legolas' soft voice came slowly, his tired eyes resting behind eyelids creasing with worry.

Aragorn conceded that this was a good time to try out his own restored body. The 'wizards' had closed their eyes, their full concentration on the spell. He mustered as much force as he could and pounced on the foe, sending them sprawling onto the ground. Aragorn had broken their hand-to-hand contact and at that moment, Legolas' face infused with colour.

"Arrgh." Ithast growled. The three of them were struggling in a tangled mass of limbs on the grass. Aragorn felt a hand close over his collar and yank him to his feet. He found himself face to face with the warty jowls of Maeryn.

"Don't mess with us, fool. We have weapons you cannot even surmise." She let go of his collar and he lost his balance and fell backward into the grass.

Aragorn had only a moment to see Ithast hold a closed fist towards him before he opened it and unleashed thousands of monarchs. The butterflies all flew past his face as though being blown by an invisible wind. Their wings slid over his skin, shredding it to ribbons. He was absorbed in the pain of a thousand parchment cuts and could only blink as he became coated in their yellow dust. He began quickly losing sensations all over his body and knew that he would once again fall unconscious if he did not try to resist. He shook his head trying to clear his blurry vision. He thought he could hear someone calling his name as though from a great distance. At that moment, something exploded out of the ground right in front of him. His fuzzy sight told him that it was brown and he quickly realized that a humungous cedar was sprouting out of the ground at the speed of light. The tree grew taller and wider and soon its trunk thrust Aragorn's unsuspecting body back from the 'wizards' a good fifteen feet. Soon a wall of trees began shooting up at the same catastrophic rate and before he could mobilize his unresponsive body, Aragorn was caged in four walls of tall, tight knit cedars. He could see out through their straight trunks, but was not thin enough to escape them. Aragorn gasped, trying to manipulate his mouth into speaking. He concentrated all of his strength into lifting his arm so that he could wipe the dust off of his face. He succeeded in this and pulled himself into a nook between the trees.

"Set me free!"

"I warned you not to mess with us." Maeryn said, dusting herself off and getting into the kneeling position in front of Legolas once more. Maeryn pulled off her gloves and put her hand to the ground and a rumbling sound began. A dark root system began shooting out of the ground where she touched her hand to it and it crept along the ground towards Aragorn's cage. It quickly began wrapping itself around the trees of the enclosure, sealing them off, strangling them, and quickly succeeded in not only blocking Aragorn's view, but also fastening him in darkness. But the roots were not satisfied with simply wrapping up the trees. Soon they pierced inside the ranger's small opening and sought out the man himself. They came for his feet first, and he backed up against the far wall trying to get away from them. But they soon came from behind as well and in no time at all, the roots had seized his legs and arms. They rolled upwards, closing off circulation where they went and weaving together over his chest. They squeezed and choked the air out of the ranger's lungs. He fainted and the roots suspended him in the middle of his cage.

TBC


	17. The Black Sickness

17) The Black Sickness 

Legolas was having that same dream again – his deadmare. He was trying to meditate, to go in peace. He was journeying through a wide field towards a large boulder and, again, his fantasy was broken up with dark flashes of a twisted forest. Once again, he knew that the trees held his Estel within and that he must try to find him before his death, for the ranger's soul was trapped somewhere. He accepted the forest in his mind. He moved away from the boulder and entered the forest. He stepped up to the close-knit trees and began pulling back the vines that were enshrouding them. One by one, he ripped. It got harder and harder and his arms were becoming heavy with the exertion of it.

_Don't worry, Estel. I'll reach you._ He was getting closer. He could see glimpses of the ranger's dark hair between the roots, held deep within. Despite his aching arms, the elf increased speed. He pulled the stubborn roots away and shredded them ferociously. He was much nearer now – he could almost reach a hand out to the ranger. Just a few more layers!

_I will not die this time! This time I will succeed. This time I will free him!_ He wildly frayed the last layer, blood, adrenaline and fury pulsing through him. And as he looked up to the ranger's face, ready to untie him, he opened his eyes.

"And that," Maeryn was saying to Ithast. "Is how you deal with a nuisance."

The black mass of roots filled the elf's eyes and he knew what he must do.

"Now enough fooling around." Maeryn raised herself onto her knees and her face was now very close to the elf.

"You'd better be done with those, if you're going to concentrate." Ithast pointed out, gesturing towards the roots, which were still attached to the old woman's hand.

"I supposed you're right." She began to use her other hand to sever the vines from her.

_It's now or never._

At that moment, Legolas thrust forward with all of his might and butted his head roughly against Maeryn's. She let out a horrific scream as the black disease hit her head and trickled down her face, her neck, her arms, scarring and sizzling and burning all the way down to her toes. And, as the Prince had predicted, the plague went right through to the vines attached to her hand. They sizzled and turned to dust as the blackness travelled along them. The charring followed their path around and around the cedars until they reached the centre and Estel's suspended body. They charcoaled into ash and he fell to the ground, his lungs gasping for air. Legolas noted this, his own breath caught in his throat, his small sense of triumph swelling.

But Maeryn was not dead. She was rolling on the ground, writhing and screaming and covering her face with her hands. Ithast was powerless to help and jumped about trying not to step on her. Legolas watched her silently, wondering why she wasn't dust yet. The elf had not been watching the other 'wizard', so it came as quite the shock when the back of the man's gloved hand slapped him swiftly and smartly across the face. The Prince's face burned with the sting, hot with embarrassment and fury.

"You'll pay for that, _Highness_." He spat. Ithast had more to say, but was interrupted then by a deep moan from the old woman. He helped Maeryn to her feet, trying to console her. "Let me see." He gently lifted Maeryn's face and peered into it.

If the old woman had looked haggard before, it was nothing compared to the ghastly vision she was now. Her once hairy, warty face was now covered with terrible black and bloody burns. Her skin was charcoaled and leathery. Her hair was burnt into black wires. Her hands were withered and corpse-like. But she was not dust. Ithast cradled her in his arms. There were thick, blackened tears rolling out of her gray eyes.

"H-he tried to kill me. H-he's too close to death now f-for his skin to have the proper effect, b-but he burned me. H-he-" She sobbed and then coughed, her lungs obviously filled with ash.

"Shhhhhhhh. I know, I know." Ithast looked down at her lovingly with his perfect black eyes. "Don't worry. We'll set things right. He'll pay. He'll pay for everything, my sweet. We'll fix your face. Just don't cry."

Legolas wondered briefly if they were lovers. But surely they couldn't be. She was old enough to be his grandmother. In fact, maybe she was. But the Prince didn't have time to long consider this, for Ithast gently set down Maeryn and advanced on him. He backhanded the elf once again.

"You and your friend will _suffer_!" He screamed with rage.

"Oh, we've had plenty of that!" Legolas spat out the blood that had seeped into his mouth from his split lip. "What's a little more?"

Ithast obviously didn't know what to say to this and it clearly infuriated him more. "Y-you will die. Now!"

However, Ithast clearly thought of something even worse, for he unsheathed his blade and moved behind Legolas. Before the elf had time for fear, he felt a tug at his scalp as the 'wizard' took hold of his waist-length hair. Legolas struggled not to cry out as a rough tearing prickled through his skull, accompanied by the horrible sound of careless shearing. All at once, the pressure on his hair was released and his blond locks swung forward. They were now the down to the bottom of his shoulder blades – a good foot and a half shorter! Ithast came back into his view, the great length of blond clasped in his hand. A great indignation flamed across the elf's cheeks as he watched his thousand-year-old tresses dead and in the clutches of a stranger.

Ithast stroked the locks across his face. "Oooh, so soft!" He moaned. "I can't wait until they're mine." He slowly and reluctantly tucked the hair inside his cloak and snapped his eyes back to the elf's, angry once more. "And once you are gone, know that your friend will be next!"

"Kill the ranger first. It will pain him more." Maeryn said in a scratchy voice.

"An excellent idea, my sweet."

Maeryn made a motion with her hands as though she was pulling back two branches and the large cedars parted and moved aside, revealing the ranger. He was unconscious on the grass inside. "Here." Maeryn said and the grass rolled upward and carried the ranger over to them. "See now, as we take that which matters most to you." She coughed. She took Aragorn by the hair and lifted a blade to his neck.

"No!" Legolas screamed in a voice no longer his own. It was filled with the raw, bloody, unquenchable emotion of a human. The elf slammed forward in his bindings, narrowly missing Ithast's head. The man gasped.

"Maeryn, give me your hand, _now_! He's too dangerous to live!" And Ithast took Maeryn's hand into his and jerked her towards him. Maeryn dropped the ranger and the blade. Ithast began summoning his music and Maeryn did not hesitate to concentrate her rage on the elf.

The magic came to them quicker now, the life of the elf less anchored to the body. It soon began peeling off of him in layers and dispersing into the air like pearly bands of vapour. The Prince of Mirkwood's eyes rolled back into his head, his strained, desperate face went slack, and his body slumped heavily against its bindings as though they were the only things holding him up. The eerie music drifted high and undirected through the air, putting the orcs in the peripheral forest into a bewitched sleep.

The ranger's eyes snapped open, red spots dancing in front of them as he instinctively tried to raise himself out of the vulnerable heap he found himself in. He pushed himself up on his elbows, spitting out grass. He then noticed the spine-chilling music sauntering through his ears and wondered why it wasn't enchanting him into some horrible doom. Remembering where he was, he looked at the 'wizards' who were once again performing the spell.

The ranger was aghast to see the old woman's limbs had become like cindered logs and her entire body was covered in her own burnt meat. He couldn't understand what could have happened to her while he was in his tree-cage.

He looked up to find the staked elf before him. Even as the human watched, Legolas' clouded eyes seemed to be sinking into his head. His cheeks were hollow, his now marble-white skin once again becoming translucent. The man swore that he could see every blue vein and red artery pumping under his thin skin and for a moment, was ill to suppose that he caught a glimpse of his organs within his vine-bound torso. Aragorn could see the wisps of white life curling off of the immortal creature and seemingly evaporating into thin air. A panic filled the ranger's lungs and he silently choked on the terrified scream that involuntarily rose into his mouth. He couldn't think. He didn't. His friend would enter true death any incalculable moment. He did not consider his action – his body just did it of its own accord.

_Leg-o-las!_

He leapt to his feet and threw his body against Legolas as though it were a shield. He fell limply against him, scrambled to find his balance and clung to the body.Hearing the man's cry, the two 'wizards' opened their eyes to find the ranger clinging to the dying being. Aragorn scrambled, moving his hands furiously, trying to clutch the vaporous strands of life and keep them in the body. He tried to grasp at them and shove them back. He moved his hands over the elf's shoulders, trying to hold in the life.

"Please! Stop this! I beg you!" He said to them. "Legolas! Listen to me! Come back! Hear my voice and return! Return!" Estel screamed with so much pain and force that it rang out through the forest. It cut through the trees, the grass, the bodies of the insects, and _the music_.

The music died. Suddenly the sword that posted the elf into the ground burst with a metallic zing. The shining pieces flew everywhere and turned to molten ash. At the same moment, the poisonous mushrooms in Legolas' cupped hands disintegrated into dust. With no anchor, the Prince's nearly lifeless body collapsed backward into the grass, the ranger falling heavily on top of him. Legolas began to shake and convulse spasmodically, his body perhaps suffering the severe loss of life, or trying to call it back. Aragorn was filled with so much shock and desperation that he only vaguely took in the voices of the 'wizards'.

"What is happening, Maeryn?" Ithast screamed.

"What was wrong with your sword! It's supposed to stand up to the force of spell and sound!" She called back. They were both on their backs, on the ground, having lost their balance trying to avoid being filleted by flying shards.

Aragorn quickly unbound the elf, whose delicate life rippled and hovered precariously around his body like mist. As he did so, he tried to wake him, pushing his long, tangled hair back from his face, "Legolas, please! Come back. Return to me!" The elf's skin was no longer powerful enough to inflict death on contact.

A nearly inaudible whisper escaped the lips of the elf, his clouded, milky eyes unchanging. "Estel, stop this… You are being … selfish."

The man's heart leapt and struggled to make the words that would encourage the immortal to keep talking, to return.

"They have been more than fair… This fate has been more than fair. I…have had several…lives…. It's better … this way. Please go now… and help my father…" The Prince murmured as though half asleep. "You're being… so selfish…" He added humourlessly.

"And what's so wrong about that?" The man yelled, and then checked himself. "Don't you understand? There is a reason for all this. There has to be. There is a reason you have been brought back! You're meant _to live_." Aragorn looked back at the wizards and saw that they were trying to mobilize once more to perform the killing spell. "Oh Valar!"

Not noticing with his unseeing eyes, Legolas continued murmuring. "No… Estel… There is no reason for …it. It's as the old woman said… This is an abomination, an anomaly that happens…. sometimes."

Aragorn pulled the elf's limbs underneath him, trying to shield him from the oncoming spell. "Please don't!" He said, but his voice was overshadowed by Maeryn's.

"Music." She commanded.

Ithast tried to summon his music, but none would come.

"Concentrate!" Maeryn hissed.

"I'm trying!" Ithast tried to whistle, but his lips would not work. Nothing would come. "It's not working!"

Aragorn was thankful for the time bought – he needed Legolas to will himself to live. "Legolas, why have you fallen to her lies? You believe everything that they have said and yet you have no reason to trust it. Search your feelings, mellon nin. This is not your time. You _know_ this is not your time!"

"Estel, I cannot live unnaturally any longer just because you want me to. I died fair and square. I was tested, and overtaken. My skills were bettered, so I deserved to die… As has been done with all of my kin for thousands of years." No light was returning to the elf's chalky eyes.

"But that's _just_ it, Legolas!" The man slammed his fist down upon the ground. "It wasn't fair! Don't you remember? That coward took all of your abilities away to lure you into a vulnerable position. There was _nothing_ fair about it! And I've cursed myself every waking moment since then – I was truly not the bodyguard you needed. I failed to protect you. But it was in no way fair!"

"This is useless without the sword and the mushrooms! Without the articles of original death, without the music… He cannot be killed." Maeryn's blackened throat cursed a few feet away, unheard by the man and elf.

"I was stupid enough to fall to the enchantment of the music; I deserved to die…" Legolas' lips barely moved and his body showed no signs of life, but his voice sounded exasperated.

"So that's it then!" Aragorn's voice shook with tears of helpless rage. "You're just going to give up, throw it all away, relent your hold on life….?" The ranger waited for an answer but none came. For a moment he feared that the Prince's spirit had left his body. But in a tiny gesture the man almost missed, the elf licked his lips. "Well, if you're not going to claim your life, then I will!"

"What do we do now?" Ithast asked Maeryn desperately, humiliation colouring his face.

Maeryn stared into his eyes for a moment, thinking. "He must pay. We'll kill his ranger friend!"

Just then, movement at her feet caught her eye. The ranger had crawled over to them and, in a stealthy flash, had claimed the forgotten blade from the grass beside them. For a moment, her heart leapt in fear, convinced he meant to kill them. But the ranger quickly crawled back to the translucent elf lying in a pile on the ground. He bent over the elf, hesitated a moment and then drove the knife swiftly down through the immortal's throat. Scarlet teemed out and there was a horrible choking sound overlaid with the gurgling of blood.

The 'wizards' gasped and stared for a moment, unable to understand why his friend would do this to him. Then a realization washed over Maeryn and she narrowed her eyes, trying to think of something that she could do to stop it.

Aragorn was frozen, poised over the elf, still bearing down on the blade that stuck straight through the elf into the ground below. For one horrifying moment, he wondered if he had taken his frustration out on the elf.

_I just hope this works…. _He thought, slowly pulling the weapon out of the supple flesh. He noticed a twitching out of the corner of his eye and looked over to find the elf's hands convulsing. Thinking it grotesque, the man looked back into the transparent, blue-tinged face of the elf. His heart leap as the milky eyes suffered a sort of explosion, starting at the black pupil and moving out in a fantastic wave of glacial blue. His live eyes focused and dilated, while air was feverishly sucked over his cold lips, desperate to feed his hungry brain. His skin was becoming harder and harder to see through and his cheeks soon developed a pallor. But he did not warm. He had become the undead thing once more. Relief melted Aragorn as he saw his own face register in the elf's brilliant eyes. The man held his breath as the elf raised himself up on his elbows, willing him to speak.

_This again…_ Legolas thought, looking into the ranger's face. As he raised himself into a sitting position, he saw what was behind Aragorn. Maeryn was silently advancing on him with her own blade, ready to strike him in the back, ready to make Legolas pay. Aragorn watched Legolas' expression turn to horror inexplicably. But he didn't have time to discover why because at that moment, Legolas leapt forward and hurdled the ranger aside, sending him sprawling on the ground. The elf plunged forward, meeting the old woman in mid-stab. He latched onto her exposed forearms and his hands burnt right through them. She cried the most terrible sound that any of them had ever heard, and even Ithast's own screams could not be heard over it. The black charcoaling flamed through her body at an unprecedented rate. In moments, her flesh had melted off her bones and become ash and her skeleton soon collapsed onto the ground in a random mound. Legolas found the hand with the sword in his own, having melted it right off. He watched it as it quickly became its own tiny pile of ash and the blade fell to the ground with a metallic clang.

Aragorn's own flesh had turned cold and covered in goosebumps, his eyes were popping out of his head and he could not understand. Legolas turned to look down at him from where he stood over the remains. He looked sad and regretful, as though he hadn't wanted the man to have to see this. His eyes glistened with extreme remorse – a rarity in any elf's eternity – and then hardened, committing to the facts.

"I am dead. I spread death." He said, simply. He looked on Aragorn with increasing pity as he noticed the man's hands shaking as he brought them up to his face, covering his mouth in shock. For a moment, Legolas thought he saw something like fear pass behind Aragorn's eyes, as though the man wanted nothing more than to back away. Legolas' insides flinched as though being plucked like a stringed instrument, but he kept his exterior static. "Don't touch my skin." He added, solemnly.

A sobbing sound came from Ithast, who was bent over the ashes, holding the bones that lingered to his face. His mouth was quivering uncontrollably as he kissed and nuzzled all of the remains that were still solid enough to be held. Terrible hiccupping moans came from him and he clenched and unclenched his fits.

"My s-sweet," He mourned. "C-come back, my sweet." His tears disappeared into the flaking cinders, absorbed by the dryness of the dead, his long jet-black hair hanging ragged in the ashes. His trembling lips kissed what looked to be a femur in a last goodbye and then he gently put the bone back into the pile as though setting it neatly in its place. "I'll get them for you, my sweet. Don't you worry. You will be avenged. I'll succeed in our goal just for you. Don't worry about anything…" He spoke as he organized the bones as though it were some cleaning up that he took pride in doing.

When he finally looked up, he had changed. His hands were clenched into tight menacing balls and his black eyes burned with more fire than Maeryn had. He looked as though he was poised to leap onto Legolas and throttle him. The danger in his eyes made Legolas' instincts scream, and he stepped deliberately between the ranger and the remaining 'wizard'. Aragorn thought to protest, but now that Legolas' body was undead again and he, himself had no armour, it seemed that this arrangement only made sense.

"You," Ithast spoke with near inaudible rage. "Will pay most dearly for what you have done. I will burn you and everyone you know." Ithast paused, forcing himself to think through the fury that would have otherwise disabled him. He realized that he had no weapon against the immortal elf. The blades would not work on him and he was unable to perform the spell that would kill him anymore. And his music seemed to have deserted him. But perhaps there was one way to get his revenge and to get the elf to hand over the beauty.

A look of epiphany suddenly passed through the eyes of the 'wizard', frightening the elf, who was watching him intently.

"Prepare to _suffer_ as I now suffer! I hope your fathers are as strong as the elves seem to think they are!" Ithast's throat sounded as though it was coming apart at the seams and with that, he began to run. He ran back the way Legolas had come, _towards_ _Rivendell_.

TBC


	18. The White Sickness

Author's Note:

I don't think I'll ever be happy with this ending, but I have just been screwing around with it for too long. Some ills just can't be cured. So, here, the last chapter - Enjoy!

* * *

18) The White Sickness

Silent, Legolas and Aragorn stared after him, completely dumbfounded.

"Did you think he was going to run?" Aragorn asked after several moments of quiet.

"…Our fathers…?" Legolas slowly stepped forward, directionless.

"What can he do to our fathers? All his power seems to be gone."

A horrible recognition came into the eyes of the Prince. "Our f-fathers… He yet has one weapon! The orcs hiding in the outskirts of Rivendell! They're skulking around in the woods!"

"Orcs in Rivendell? Impossible."

"They're there. I saw them. Apparently, they were able to encroach when they felt the weakness growing."

"What weakness?" Aragorn was beginning to feel as though he had been asleep for a hundred years.

"My father - h-he … he thinks I'm dead, yes? His spirit, his heart is…" Legolas still couldn't speak through the guilt.

"He's heartbroken."

"He's dying, Estel."

"But, my father – t-the river elves-"

"Your father is spending every waking moment trying to keep him from falling into oblivion. They have no direction. The uncertainty flows down through the tiers… There is chaos, or so I have been led to believe. And if it were not true, I do not know why Ithast would go there."

Aragorn stared at him, trying to read his belief and a fear began to fill him.

The forest then began to dissolve and turn to ash as Maeryn had. The grass was shrivelling into black and the trees were beginning to crash down as though they were on fire, though there was no flame. Legolas threw his body over Aragorn, dragging them both to the ground to avoid the gargantuan tree limb falling their way. The branch fell beside them and Legolas got off of the man and reached down to help him up with a cloth-shielded hand.

"Without Maeryn here to sustain the forest…"

"It really was her forest. She could make forest…" The implications of this were beginning to dawn on Aragorn as this was, indeed the forest where they had originally gotten lost and Legolas had fallen to his first doom.

Legolas pushed him aside to avoid another falling tree. The air was filling with ash. "Estel, our fathers-"

"I know. Come on." Aragorn took the elf's clothed wrist and tried to lead him over and through the fallen and falling trees.

"Watch out!" Legolas commanded, moving the man's head out of the way of falling debris. They reached the path that Legolas had been on when he had found the clearing and began chasing the path of the 'wizard'. But their pursuit was quickly becoming a run for their lives as they dodged and jumped through the rapidly deteriorating forest. The Prince steered the man around the blackened remains of the burnt cottage, which was still smoking lightly. Though Legolas did not explain it, Aragorn watched the way he moved around it, his expression dark and unreadable, and knew that the elf had been through here earlier. Aragorn found that they were well matched, and as they ran, he felt compelled to say all of the things that there had not yet been time to say, even the trivialities.

"I-I can't believe that-" Aragorn started.

"What?" Legolas asked, the wind rushing past their ears.

"Legolas, I meant what I said."

"About what?"

"About it being my fault that you weren't better protected…. I let you die."

"Don't be stupid." He said, the two of them trying to squish through a particularly narrow pass. "You were overwhelmed. It's my fault for falling to that ridiculous music. Only a very simple creature could fall to- " Legolas cut himself off. He didn't want to talk anymore.

"Don't say-"

"Let's not talk anymore." Legolas snapped. He didn't want to talk and exacerbate the situation.

How had it come to this? This was all so wrong –a nightmare that was never meant to be.

After a few moments of running in silence, Aragorn said, "Listen, I know you don't want to talk anymore…"

Legolas closed his eyes and exhaled, annoyed by the ranger's persistence.

"Just listen. I have some information that… may help us. I have been thinking and I've remembered something. A long time ago, there was a rumour in Rivendell, a sort of urban legend. There was … a hack wizard that used to take on students and teach them his petty tricks… I think he did know things but wasn't exactly in the same league as the wizards that most are familiar with . . . He would take on students with promise and natural talent… The story goes that he once had a student who was obsessed with beauty and could see nothing else. When the master learned that this student had become very fond of his other pupil only because she was beautiful, he turned her into an old hag… She was so humiliated that she fled. He was banished from his training…"

They were exiting the forest now and were running along the long straight trail that was lined with alders and a small creek – the same part of the path where Aragorn had fallen to the butterfly and Legolas had found his cast. Soon they would exit out of Maeryn's dark and rapidly disintegrating forest and would be out on the great golden plain that led to Rivendell's forests. Legolas looked shocked, his lips parted and panting as they ran.

"Don't you see? That's why they wanted your beauty – to restore her to her original form." Aragorn continued.

"So, they did love each other." Legolas muttered.

"Maybe. They both have a terrible fixation with beauty."

"It seems that by entering this forest, we inadvertently brought them back together…"

"Of all the ridiculous outcomes…" Aragorn grumbled. "Legolas, is your hair shorter?"

"Look up there." Legolas pointed down near the mouth of the alders, which was growing steadily closer.

"What?"

"Tariël."

"Who?"

"The horse I rode in on. Or was trying to. He's still here. I guess he has forgiven me for killing his comrade…"

The same dark fear passed behind Aragorn's eyes, but he said nothing about it. They slowed and approached the stallion and Legolas asked him in Elvish if he was there to help. The horse stepped towards them in reply. Tariël had lost his saddle somewhere in his wanderings and his reins, though remaining, had been snapped in half. Looking at the frayed braided lengths hanging from the horse's face, Legolas privately wondered what had happened – the Elvish leather was too strong to break naturally. He narrowed his eyes darkly.

As Legolas pulled shredded pieces of fabric off of the ranger's cloak to use as gloves, Aragorn watched the horizon.

"I don't have your vision, but I think I just saw Ithast pass into the forest on the other side of the plain." Aragorn informed.

"Good. We're catching up."

The plague, however, was catching up as well. The alders nearby were crashing down and crumbling into ash. Tariël paced nervously as Legolas gave the man a leg up. Once atop the horse, Aragorn reached down and took the elf's fabric-wrapped hand and hoisted him up as well. The tree next to them was cracking ominously and the elf was settled just in time for the stallion to bolt forward, narrowly missed by the thundering tree.

Though he had the weight of two riders, Tariël streamed across the golden grass of the plain. The sun was setting fast, and the dark green of the Elven forest ahead grew larger with every stride. Behind them, Maeryn's forest had been levelled and turned to ash, revealing the base of the mountains beyond. It was now steadily blowing away as though it had never been there at all…

Though unwilling to say it out loud, Aragorn felt peace in this one moment of splendour. He was skimming fast over the flat grasses as he had longed to do on his trip out. And he felt peace in the warmth of the Prince's body against his back, his arms linked around his midsection. He was with Legolas and Legolas was… alive? Or was he? The point was, he could feel Legolas and he felt alive… and warm. Why did he feel warm? Wasn't he undead?

"Legolas!" Aragorn yelled over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"You're warm!"

"Am I?"

"Believe me, you are."

"And?"

"Aren't you the undead?"

"I want you to understand, Estel – there are no rules!"

"What do you mean?" Aragorn hollered back over the wind.

"I mean, I have not found a pattern in the effects of death on my body. There are no rules."

Aragorn felt frustrated. He could barely hear the elf. Why had he become so soft-spoken? "Well, is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"You are warm, Estel. If my dead body is keeping you warm, then it is a good thing."

They entered the forest as dusk encroached. Legolas warily watched for low-slung branches overhead and Aragorn tried to keep their steed moving as quickly as possible. The elf felt waves of panic run through his stomach. He did not know how the 'wizard' was going to conquer both of their fathers at once, but he had his suspicions, and they were not pleasant.

The ranger felt the arms around him clamp tighter as they neared the bridge into Rivendell. It was lighter under the open sky of the ravine. As they entered Rivendell, though nothing looked askew, they did not see a single soul. As they catapulted across the courtyard, several arrows pelted at them. Legolas was not surprised. He could sense the orcs hiding the shadows.

_They must be holding the Rivendell elves somewhere._ He thought. They would have to liberate them later… Right now his father was his only priority.

Aragorn manoeuvred the horse to dodge the arrows and they were not hit. Aragorn gently squeezed Tariël's reins, getting ready to stop just in front of the stairs to the central chambers, where it was most likely that they would find their fathers. Legolas, however, leaned his head over the man's shoulder and said in his ear, "No." He loosened the man's grip on the reins. Aragorn immediately clued in and applied his leg to the tuckered stallion. Tired as he was, Tariël dutifully cantered up the stairs, his hooves pounding on the wood like four drums. Not wanting to waste any time, the riders ducked through the doorways, as the horse thundered down the hall towards Elrond's study. If their presence had gone unnoticed up until this point, their anonymity had now been extinguished by the unifying of Tariël's pounding hooves and the hardwood floor. They slid to a stop on the oak floor just outside the doors of the study. Legolas climbed down and Aragorn followed. Without hesitation, the elf threw open the double doors, his blue eyes flaming.

Given that their entrance had been less than quiet, the Prince was not surprised to find the 'wizard' ready for them. Ithast stood a tall black figure, grotesquely out of place amongst the bright woods and greens of the study. But he was not alone. In his arms, he held an equally tall elf Lord. Elrond stood ramrod straight and perfectly still, Ithast's blade to his throat. The elf Lord looked uncomfortable and defiant and showed no surprise at their bursting in.

"Ada!" slipped out of Aragorn's mouth. Elrond looked his son in the eye the best he could, his head yanked back as it was. Aragorn turned to peer at the man whose long black hair was curtaining the elf Lord's shoulder. "Why have you come here, beauty-stealer? What is your plan now that you know that the Prince cannot die and you know that you can no longer enchant him?"

"Oh, I don't think it will be as difficult as you think. His death can indeed be achieved after all." Ithast spoke silkily. He was very pleased about something and was not at all the grief-stricken creature that had left them in the woods.

Legolas was silent, ripping his eyes from the hostage situation before him to search for someone else. And he very quickly found them. There in the back corner in front of the carved balcony was a white scar. Thranduil lay face down, his features completely obscured by his long hair. The once blond elf was now a being of snow-white hair. He was wearing the same long white robes that Legolas had known him to wear to every funeral. The King of the Mirkwood elves appeared quite dead. But, though he didn't know how, Legolas knew that he wasn't gone yet. He had sunk so far into his sorrow that he no longer had the strength to keep himself up. At the sight of his father, the elf Prince paled, his throat filled up with a cold guilt, water filled his eyes and he knew ultimate regret.

He knew all eyes were on him as he ran across the room. He slid into a kneeling position before his father, rapidly whispering a thousand Elvish apologies. He clasped his frail albino father by the shoulders and gently turned him over onto his back. The King's face was as white as his hair and little blue veins twined under over his neck and jaw line.

Legolas crushed his eyes together at the sight of him, squeezing the cold water out of them.

"Ada, forgive me!" He cried in Elvish. His sadness reached its zenith and, careful not to touch his skin, he pulled his father's limp form to his heart.

Suddenly it all made sense to Aragorn and he thrust himself forward to stop it.

"Legolas!" But before he could do anything, it happened. Aragorn watched in horror as the Prince's blond hair faded white, his skin became like ashen marble, and little blue veins snaked over his skin. Thranduil's mourning spread as a white shadow over Legolas like sickness. He crumpled down beside his father and they lay together like two heartsick doves.

Aragorn scrambled over and knelt next to the bodies. Legolas' eyes were open, but like his father's; they were diluted and appeared to be unseeing as though there was nothing behind them.

Ithast chuckled contently. He shuffled over to the bodies, holding Elrond tightly to him. Elrond's eyes were wide and mournful at the sight of the white bodies, but he still made no sound. It seemed that Ithast was keeping him up.

"Legolas, wake up!" The ranger tugged at the elf's dirty, ripped sleeves. "Come on, Legolas. Come out of it! You don't need this sorrow and neither does your father. You're both alive! I know you can hear me."

"Clearly this anomaly of his does not consider death in sadness. By the by," Ithast reached into his cloak and pulled out the bundle of Legolas' hair and threw it into the ranger's lap. "Let this be on your head." He chuckled briefly at his grotesque pun. "On your account rather."

Aragorn felt his gag reflex trigger at the sight of the hair on his legs. It was as though the elf was already dead and the hair was the carcass left over.

"And now, ranger, taking his beauty will be as simple as slaying a newborn lamb." Ithast said in a deceptively kind voice.

"Something I'm sure you would know a lot about." The ranger spat venomously.

Without warning, Ithast dropped Elrond onto the floor and cracked the ranger over the back of the head with the hilt of his large blade. Red lights exploded in Aragorn's vision and he slumped forward on the floor, adding to the body pile. Though the ranger did not pass out, he could feel his own hot blood soaking his hair at the back of his neck. He stared blurry eyed across the floor and locked eyes with Elrond who was staring back sternly. He was not moving either. He seemed to want to convey a message to his son, but he would not speak.

Oblivious to the two bodies he had just thrown to the ground, Ithast stepped forward and knelt before Legolas.

"Finally." He relished.

Ithast clasped Legolas by the shoulders and pulled his flaccid body to him. He held Legolas directly in front of him, the elf's head lolling around, and from the hands of the 'wizard' came a charge that jolted the elf's whole body like lightning. And the Prince remained lifeless as before.

While Aragorn watched Ithast's actions, his head swimming, he tried to understand what was wrong with Elrond. Why was he not doing anything? Why wouldn't he speak? And then it came to him through the mist of his head injury: Elrond must be coated with the dust of Ithast's monarchs. He was as mystified as the ranger had been when he first encountered them outside of Maeryn's forest. The elf Lord's body was quite useless and he was trying to tell Aragorn so with his eyes.

The edges and curves of Legolas' body began to shimmer and glow white. Ithast smiled broadly and turned finally to Elrond, thinking that Aragorn was unconscious.

"See you on the other side." He said. He began to inhale and suck the shimmer and glow off of the elf's form, and as he did so, Legolas' qualities began to transfer to the man. His long black hair grew out blond; his pale skin became smooth and ethereal. His cheekbones became higher and chiselled like a sculpture. His ears began to point gracefully and his black eyes faded to a glacial blue.

When the transference was complete, Ithast did not look like Legolas' twin. But he did not look like Ithast either. His appearance was somehow the amalgamation of his former body and Legolas, as though Legolas' image had been melted on top of him like wax. He was the most grotesquely beautiful man that Aragorn had ever seen. He looked supernatural and stunning. And yet, he appeared plainly unnatural, sporting an otherworldly glow on the surface and something distinctly human underneath. Though it was easy enough to get caught up in his loveliness, there was something indefinably wrong with his façade.

The ranger broke his stare away from the new Ithast and looked to Legolas' body, which the 'wizard' had dropped limply on the unyielding floor, the moment the transformation had stopped. Legolas lay splayed crossways over his father's torso, whiter than ever. Strangely enough, his body was covered in frost, his skin blue-tinged. His veins were visible now all over his body, but instead of blue they appeared brown and stagnant like the skeletal structure of a dead leaf. Like a creature hibernating for the winter, the blood in his veins had all but stopped pulsing.

Ithast had stepped back, admiring the long, delicate fingers that were now his. He was breathing quickly and ecstatically. His dream was finally realized. He suddenly became aware of his surroundings and began turning around and around looking for a mirror or some reflective surface. He found one on the far side of the room where there was a mirror encased in wood vine carvings. Encountering his new image in the mirror, he admired it from every angle.

Aragorn crawled towards Legolas, the pain in his skull threatening to overtake him with blackness. He latched onto the elf's tunic and pulled himself forward. He stared down into the elf's icy, unseeing eyes, which were now matched by his skin. There was nothing in the white-blue face to indicate that this shell had ever been alive. Hot water welled up in the ranger's eyes at the sight of his mangled visage. His body looked so used, as though it had been sent to the river to be beaten, washed and dried like a garment. Legolas was no longer beautiful…

"Legolas," He whispered, his throat quivering. "I know you're in there…Even though your body doesn't look like it was ever warm enough… or pink enough… to hold life…I know that you haven't left yet. You mustn't allow this sadness to drag you down with it. You must pull your father out of his sorrow-world and you must both emerge here in life." His voice broke. There was no change in Legolas' appearance. He did not stir. The man felt that if he could only touch the elf, hold his face, take him by the hand, he could lead him out of his heartbreak death.

And suddenly there was nothing for Aragorn but the life of his ancient, once-beautiful friend.

Elrond knew his son's thoughts too well and because of this, he knew what was happening when Estel raised his hands. He fought the drugging dust with all of his might and managed to drag out, "Este- No!"

But Aragorn was not listening. There was nothing for him now. Not even the pain that he knew was coming. He reached forward and cupped the Prince's stone cold face in his bare hands. Frost flaked with the touch and immediately began melting as the searing started. Aragorn fought through the pain. Pain was nothing. He had to focus.

"Legolas, please." He said softly. "Please fight this. There is a reason for your life and it wasn't to fall into the deepest of mourning. Please-" His voice cracked, as his skin on his hands sizzled and the blackness travelled up his arms, burning his flesh to ash as though it were wood turning to cinders. The pain was excruciating and it was travelling up his shoulders and across his chest like plague. It engulfed the flesh above his heart, bubbling as though acidic. But it didn't matter any more. He did not let go of the elf's face, despite the fact that the skin of his hands was dripping off like meat gristle.

"Legolas, please! We need y-" The ranger clamped his eyes shut. He could take no more. He let out a harrowing scream. "_I_ need you!" He screamed with the same ferocity.

This noise stole Ithast's attention away from his reflection and he turned to see the ranger burning himself to a cinder. He stood dumbfounded at Aragorn's suicide attempt.

The black plague was spreading up the man's neck now and he was gasping for breath as it seared the outside of his throat. His eyes were crushed shut and hot salty water flowed from them freely. The elf was now covered in a water mist from the melted ice and it was at this moment that the light behind his eyes saturated with colour. He gasped for breath and gained sight in his eyes. Warm blue blood shot through his hard skeletal veins, liquefying his whole body.

Perhaps it was his touch, or his words, or even his anguished howl, but one way or another Aragorn had reached him and pulled him from his sorrow world.

The elf's first sight was of the blackness travelling up Aragorn's neck, the ranger's head cast toward the ceiling, a horrid, aching cry issuing from his lips. With his shocking jolt out of his sorrow-world, so came the terrifying realization of what Aragorn had done. His own ice-cold eyes immediately filled with tears.

_What have you done, mellon nin!_

Legolas quickly took the ranger's wrists and whipped his hands away from his face. But it was too late. The ranger fell forward, his point of balance upset. He turned his shocked eyes to find a live Legolas, though a little blue. The man did not recover his balance and found himself on top of Legolas, curled in his arms, his head cradled against his shoulder. Legolas could feel the man's whole body racked with tremors – he was shaking with grief and physical pain. He coughed and took arduous, shuddering breaths. It was clearly getting to his lungs.

"Estel, what have you done?" Legolas rocked him, trying to keep his skin from touching the man's.

"I couldn't," He sobbed. Tears were pouring down his burning face. "Let you die – not from sorrow. Not from anything. I couldn't – I – I just couldn't-" The ranger could no longer organize words.

"It's all right, just calm yourself…" Legolas whispered as though trying to soothe a child.

"I couldn't let that hap- "

"Shhhhhh…"

"…I need you, mellon nin…For a few days, I caught a glimpse of what it would … and I still couldn't imagine it … without-"

At that moment, something inside Legolas' body caught fire and its beam blinded everyone in the room. His skin infused with pink colour, his hair blazed blond, his eyes became their full pigment again. Then, suddenly, knicks, bruises and scars spread all over his body – they were the marks of his deaths. Legolas felt the small pains and stiffness of his injuries. Legolas was beautiful again…

Aragorn watched with a salt-drenched face, astounded as the live Legolas he knew before they ever went into the forest, before all of this mess ever happened, was restored to him.

At that moment, Aragorn didn't think he could watch anymore. He didn't think he could sustain the ash structure of his body any longer. He toppled over, ready to die.

He was thinking that death would be a welcome respite from this searing when he felt as though a cold ocean wave had washed over him. His throat cooled and moistened, he felt the night air on his face, and a refreshing coolness was spreading down his neck, his torso, over his shoulders and down his arms. He looked down at his hands and watched the last of the black sickness evaporate right off of them. His healthy skin showed no signs of ever having been burned off. He turned to Legolas, jubilant.

"Look." Aragorn reached up and ran his finger across Legolas' smooth, sculpted cheek. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

And then, everything that had needed to be heard had been said and the spell was broken.

Legolas was speechless and elated. Without warning, he pulled Aragorn into a tight hold.

Ithast watched spellbound, but the embrace was the last straw. He unsheathed his blade and started towards them when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was the colour black. He turned and regarded himself in the mirror. Legolas' beauty had dissolved and been regained by the elf. The 'wizard's' long black hair was back, as were his large rounded lips and his pale skin too. He was no longer beautiful…

Suddenly he hated the mirror and wondered why it would ever show him such an image. He let out a scream of rage and smashed the mirror with the large stone sitting on the study's desk that was used to keep Elrond's maps from blowing in the open air. The reflective shards went flying everywhere, sliding over the wood floor and pelting the man and the three elves.

"You're going to regret reclaiming your mortality!" Ithast started towards them, his blade held high, and Legolas and Aragorn looked around frantically for something with which they could defend themselves. There was nothing.

Ithast's black eyes were livid as he lunged first toward the Prince of Mirkwood.

Casting about for anything that might save them, Aragorn let what he hoped were cutting words fly. "Your obsession with beauty is your undoing!"

A question flickered in the 'wizard's' eye as he advanced.

"It was your preoccupation with beauty that killed Maeryn!"

Ithast stopped dead, his blade frozen in the air.

"It was your love for beauty that led your master to curse her with ugliness and old age! If not for you, she would never have shared your desire for Legolas' beauty and she would never have crossed his path and consequently killed!"

Ithast stumbled back, lowering the blade, his eyes augmented with horror and water. "I…." His voice matched his eyes, quavering with the lump in his throat. "I-I loved her even afterwards…" He choked, as though this might atone for it all. "But she still fled… She was embarrassed. We missed out on y-years together because I couldn't find her…"

"Do you see the path of destruction your lust for beauty has caused? The innocent ar-"

"Silence!" Ithast screamed, his black eyes lit with a guilty fury.

He raised the blade and flew at them once more. Legolas deflected his arm and Aragorn knocked the knife out of his hand. Ithast tried to punch them, but was dodged at every jab. Legolas pushed the 'wizard's' body hard, desperate to put distance between them. But the man completely lost his balance, and fell backward. He tripped over Thranduil's body and went backward over the railing of the study. He plummeted a good hundred feet off the ravine edge outside. The moon was rising now, fat and bright like a lantern illuminating the river bank. From above, Ithast's black form looked like an ink blotch trickled amidst the rocks on the riverbank. Or, perhaps the dark mass they saw was not robes and hair but blood…

Thranduil had his eyes mashed shut, clearly flinching. When he felt a gentle hand on his chest, he slowly opened his pale blue eyes, blinking softly. He found another pair staring into his, a deep liquid blue. They were brimming with tears. The skin of the face was covered with beads of sweat. But the face was beautiful. It had high, carved cheekbones, sharp lips and was framed by frayed, frizzy hair. Thranduil wept, his voice caught in a horde of sobs. The face split into a blissful smile, cultured by a quivering at the corner of the mouth. It wanted to cry as well. The water spilled out of its ducts and Legolas embraced his father.

Aragorn moved to his father and began trying to dust him off. He was as impersonal and business-like as possible while wiping off his father's face with his sleeve. Now that the danger had passed, he was embarrassed by the way he had left things with his father when they had last seen each other. He had stormed out like a child. Furthermore, not only had he failed to bring back the murders' heads, but he had led the criminals to attack his own father's house. His face felt hot with shame and guilt and he refused to meet the eyes of the elf as he beat the powder off of him. He was concentrating hard on wiping it off of Elrond's green clad shoulders when he felt a hand on his face. The hand gently tilted his face and he was forced to look Elrond in the eye. Elrond's face was pained with regret. His eyes told Estel how much he had missed him. There was no hint of anger or disappointment in him. He embraced his son tightly, unable to believe that he had returned alive.

The man and the elf sprinted out of the study and down the hall to where they knew they could find a cabinet with bows and arrows, perfect for hunting orc. They armed themselves and then slunk down into the shadows of the courtyard as quietly as they could. They could see a golden light source just outside the archway leading out of the courtyard. They slipped through the darkness and hid in the archway, trying to find the source of the light. They peeked around the bend and found themselves staring at a large bonfire on the grass near the bridge. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the light source and they soon realized what they were looking at. There were several orcs roasting as fuel for the fire and a dozen or more stoic elves standing around watching. Legolas and Aragorn straightened and strode forward, overcome with relief. They put their hands up to the warm flames. The elves stared at them, trying to recognize them through the poor light. When they realized who they were, they spluttered uncharacteristically. They were, after all, supposed to be dead.

After they had bathed and put on fresh clothes, they returned to their fathers in the study. They spent the rest of the night regaling them with their story and they too had already heard the rumours of the 'wizards' who turned out to Ithast and Maeryn. Elrond also said that he had heard of this legendary immortal anomaly.

"It is to live indefinitely, but it is to live cursed. There is nothing sacred about this form of existence. It is to be damned." He explained.

"I would have taken you in any form, damned or not." Thranduil said to Legolas. Through his joy, Thranduil couldn't help but notice a change in Legolas. His elven glow was missing and he looked more human than any other elf. The King of Mirkwood, however, kept this to himself.

"As would I. But at times, you seemed rather determined to die…" Aragorn piped up.

Legolas stared pensively into the fire that they were sitting around. "But, how was the curse broken? I am quite certain that I am as mortal as an elf can be now."

Everyone looked to Elrond, but for once, he seemed to have no answers.

"I…..I don't know….I just said….that I needed you… and you… you were restored." Aragorn muttered diffidently.

"Perhaps your soul needed to feel wanted." Thranduil suggested solemnly.

"It's more than that, though." Legolas looked Aragorn in the eye and the human held his gaze. "Estel's voice has always grounded me in life…"

THE END


End file.
